A Wind from Gascony
by Umeko
Summary: The Musketeers had long disbanded and parted ways - then a young woman from Gascony arrives in Paris, just as Raoul decides to make a name for himself as a playwright to his father's dismay. [On Hiatus]
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer – 3 Musketeers and the characters belong to Alexander Dumas.

Thanks to suthernbell85, LadyWallace and others for their very inspirational fics.

This started as a 'what-if' idea that took an odd turn somewhere. Do not expect the same suave and swashbuckling Athos, Porthos and Aramis as we normally see them. This is partly based on the 2011 movie, please ignore the ending part about Milady's rescue and Buckingham's armada. Milady can stay dead.

**Chapter 1**

_Gascony, D'Artagnan's farmhouse._

D'Artagnan looked up at the sound of another crack of thunder. His nerves were on the edge. He fancied he heard the tell-tale sound of approaching hoof beats. The storm was approaching. Maybe it was the charged atmosphere that was causing his already-troubled mind to hear things. He stood up, feeling the familiar ache from an old wound in his knee. It was that wound, the result of a bad fall during a solo mission. Ironically, it was a similar wound that ended his own father's career in the King's Musketeers.

The few servants had been sent off for the weekend, along with her. He had intended to face this alone. He glanced up at the portrait of his wife. Constance smiled benignly at him from the gilded picture frame. Grimly, he returned the smile. Lifting a lighted candlestick from the table top, he hastened to the window with his free hand on the hilt of the sword in his belt. A flash of lightning revealed what he feared. He snuffed the candle but it was too late. They would know he was in anyway. His opponents were no fools. They would have checked before riding up to his lonely farm in a looming thunderstorm.

There were a dozen of them, all cloaked and masked. However, he could tell the three leading the troop were the leaders. The others were mere foot-soldiers. It was the trio he should beware most. Despite the fact he was outnumbered, he was not going quietly without a fight. Sword in hand, he stepped out of the house to meet them.

"Throw down your weapon, D'Artagnan!" the leader, a man with wolfish eyes, called out. His companions, one built as an ox, the other as slight as a youth, fanned out on either side as they rode up.

"Come with us in peace, we do not wish to harm you…" the slight-built one said softly. _A lie._

"Our master is a reasonable man. You should accept his offer…" the broad-shouldered one added.

"Make me," D'Artagnan shouted his defiance. The leader gave the signal for the foot-soldiers to charge him. Dismounting from their steeds, the lackeys ran into the fray against what they believed was a discharged soldier, an invalid. They did not account for the fact that as a former musketeer and a man who until recently was still in active service to the French regent, D'Artagnan was in better fighting shape than most men his age. The trio remained in their saddles, watching the uneven clash.

The ground was marshy from the seasonal rain which had lashed this part of the country for the past week. The fighters were hard-pressed to keep from slipping in mud. The infernal storm clouds chose this moment to unleash their burden, drenching the men in freezing rain. Flashes of lightning and roars of thunder disoriented them. D'Artagnan knew he was tiring. He could not keep this up. Three of his attackers had fallen to his blade, another sorely wounded and moaning in the mud. Their blood made the hilt slippery to grip. The drop in temperature always made his knee ache. Wet hair was plastered to his face, nearly blinding him.

He had guessed at the trio's game. Let the lackeys wear him down before closing in. _If he were to be taken…_

"Is one cripple too much for you, cur?" he tossed the insult at the leader. He could almost see the man's jaw clench. "You claim to do the cardinal's work but you dare not show your faces. You send half-trained boys and peasants to fight me…" he tossed a disdainful glance at the lackeys. "Perhaps you do not have the skill to capture me yourself…"

A crossbow bolt whizzed through the air and burrowed into D'Artagnan's shoulder. "You talk too much," the slight-built one lowered his crossbow. At the same time, he moved his steed so that he was between D'Artagnan and his wolf-eyed companion. "Think carefully before replying… Will you come with us?" The crossbow was reloaded and aimed at his other shoulder.

D'Artagnan hissed from the pain. The bolt had hit the bone. Glancing at the hill in the distance, he recognized the smoky-grey pony and his rider through the misty rain. Another flash of lightning confirmed it. _She should not be here! She should be safe at his aunt's, where he had sent her! _Then he spotted an opening.

"Stop him!"

D'Artagnan turned and sprinted madly for the rickety wooden bridge which spanned the rain-swollen creek at the bottom of his pasture. The timbers had rotted due to age and they planned to replace them as soon as the weather cleared. Until then, the bridge could take no more than the weight of a small man, like D'Artagnan. _If he could make it over the other side where the hill was…_

There was no time to hesitate. They were after him now. The broad-shouldered one was taking the lead on his horse, a hulking beast, casually running down their own men in the process. D'Artagnan could almost feel the horse's breath on the back of his neck. A crossbow bolt whizzed and hit the old elm as he ran past. His skin prickled at the thought of a blade finding its mark and her witnessing that. Spurred on, he reached the bridge and was safely on the timbers and half-way across before his pursuers reached the end of the muddy pasture. He did not see the fallen tree bobbing in the rushing creek. It was that which undid him.

"Papa!" Toni gasped in horror when she saw the inevitable happen. The tree smashed into the timbers of the bridge. The bridge, and her father, hung there in mid-air for a heartbeat before plunging into the churning waters below. She cursed herself for coming unarmed. _If she had her sword or pistols…_ There was nothing she could do now. She nudged Cher Ami into the shade of the poplars on the hillside and quietly trotted closer. She had witnessed the chase. _Papa would never run, not unless…_ She wiped away her tears. Perhaps Papa survived. She would not shed tears yet.

The leader took off his mask and glared at the churning waters. Toni watched from her hiding place. His face was branded into the girl's mind. The other men had turned their attention to the farmhouse and outbuildings. _Were they bandits?_ She decided not. The rain had stopped. Toni watched grimly as the first curls of smoke reached skywards. The farm buildings had been fired and were weakly burning. She waited until the last hoof beats died away before rushing to the bank. There was no sign of her father.

* * *

><p><em>Paris, 3 months later, in a townhouse<em>

"What is this?" The fabric was stretched to bursting over his ample belly.

"A paunch, sir…" Planchet replied stoically.

"For the last time, I am not getting fat!" Porthos huffed as he struggled with his doublet. "You let my clothes shrink in the wash…" A button popped and went flying, hitting the poor servant on his nose. Porthos gave up and sat down.

"Get me my other suit – Oh!" the former musketeer fell onto the floor with a crash as the fragile chair below him gave way. "And a new chair…"

"Right away, sir," the loyal servant hastened off.

Porthos grumbled and scratched his chin. _Was he going soft?_ Since the king disbanded his Musketeers, he had chosen to settle down on the inheritance he received from a wealthy aunt and start a family. To date, he had no wife despite a steady stream of lady friends. Grand houses, banquets and the finest clothes he could afford with his new wealth. That wealth was quickly spent and he was reduced to taking up residence in the same townhouse he once shared with his friends. _Full circle…_ Porthos grinned and sauntered over to their wooden balcony.

"I would not do that, sir…" Planchet ventured as he returned with a chair from the kitchen.

A crash shattered the calm of the morning, followed by a string of blistering curses from a hapless Porthos as he struggled to pull his foot free of the hole in the balcony floor.

* * *

><p><em>Convent of St Agnes the Chaste, five miles from Paris<em>

Aramis knew he had sorely misplayed his hand this time and he was making himself scarce lest the archbishop decided to have him defrocked or worse. Who would have expected the minx to be the old man's bastard daughter? Aramis could accept marriage to save the lady's honour, although everyone for five miles round knew she had the morals of a street whore. No, the archbishop was one of those who preferred that obscure canon law about cracking the skulls of priests flouting their vows with the aid of two stout monks with cudgels.

"Rene! The archbishop is looking for you!" _Lord, _the minx had spotted him creeping through the kitchen garden. She waved at him from the convent's window and with her was the archbishop. Aramis hurriedly vaulted over the perimeter wall and was greeted by the sight of two stout nuns with cudgels. If there was a God above, He has a twisted sense of humour when it came to his servants.

* * *

><p><em>A country manor in the vicinity of Versailles <em>

"Comte de la Fere… You really should curtail your drinking…" the old duchess purred and stroked his hand with a bejewelled finger. She was one of the few who still dared approach him when he took to drink. Athos ignored the gesture and quaffed his fourth drink despite the earliness of the day.

"You drink because of the loss of your wife?" the duchess asked. The Comtess had died the year before after a long illness. Athos did not reply. The person he had been waiting for had arrived.

A young man, dressed in colourful clothes, strutted across the lawn. The ruff, his feathered cap, even the boots, every stitch on him was the pinnacle of fashion, second only to the fashions of the French court at Versailles. "Good morning, Madame de Longeville," he doffed his hat to the duchess but pointedly ignored Athos.

"Raoul, your father is here to fetch you," the duchess fanned herself lazily. It was not the first time father and son had a falling-out.

"I will not leave with him-"

"Sirrah, I'm tolerated your tantrums long enough. Today we leave for Paris so as to enlist you in the King's army," Athos said quietly.

"I refuse!" Raoul retorted. "I want to write plays, father… Disown me if you will, but I am not joining the army!" He was as tall as Athos now, twenty years of age. He was a good-looking youth. Athos wished he could be proud of his son, but it would be a lie if he said he was. Spinning round on his heel, the younger man stormed off.

"You ask me why I drink, Madame. That is why…" Athos snorted with disgust at Raoul's retreating back. He emptied the rest of his wine with a gulp.

One of the duchess' grandsons tumbled out of a small orange tree, scrapping his elbows. Nursing his bleeding elbows, the lad trotted up to Raoul. "Are you going so soon?" the youngster asked. Raoul saw the blood on the boy's elbows. "Help, I feel faint…" With a stricken moan, he almost theatrically swooned.

The duchess hurried over, shouting for her servants and a physician, more for Raoul's sake than her grandson. Athos poured himself another drink. It was a curse that his son was lily-livered fop who fainted at the mere sight of blood. He would get himself a new wife, a young woman to bear him a deserving heir before he got too old to go about that business of procreating. The word had been sent out and he expected the matchmaker to return with good news soon.

* * *

><p><em>Gascony<em>

"Antoinette! You cannot continue this way! Think of your future!"

"The man is a known drunkard who spends his days in a wine barrel!"

"He seeks a strong young wife who will bear him sons. You are not getting younger, child. I was married at a younger age than you…"

"He has a son, has he not? Older than me… I refuse to be wed to a wine-sponge and an old lecher!"

The door opened and a blond girl of eighteen scowled at Madame Pomeforte. She was a lovely girl with pale blond hair and a slender figure which was almost boyish. Her skin was tanned from too many hours outdoors. A disadvantage, Madame Pomeforte thought. Her mother was so much fairer. Ah, Constance was a beauty even by Parisian standards. Perhaps a few months indoors should fix it but there was no time for that. More worrisome was the near rebellious fire which blazed in her blue eyes. Surely such a spirited girl could only bear men-children, the older woman thought. The Comte would not be disappointed.

"Verily, since your mother's death, your father has spoiled you, allowing you to run wild like that. He was a good man but was hopeless in running a farm, Antoinette. It is worse that the buildings were burned. You're as poor as a church-mouse. There are only two paths open to you- convent or marriage. Will a convent suit you, child? Prayer and hair shirts, dearie? Of course not! Yet all you have for a dowry is that debt-ridden farm. Comte de la Fere would not mind. All he asks is for a wife to bear his sons. So pack your best dress and let us go meet the Comte." Having made her point, the older woman glided off.

Toni cursed and slammed the door shut. Her aunt was right. _Two paths open or perhaps…_ She glanced out of her window and to the winding road leading to Paris. Cher Ami whinnied and glanced up from the yard below. The old devil was devouring Madame Pomeforte's flowerbed. Toni sat down before her mirror and fished out a pair of scissors from the dresser. Soon locks of blond hair littered the oaken floor.

**Author's Notes:**

This started as a fem D'Artagnan but it sort of took a life of its own. What if the Three Musketeers and D'Artagnan parted ways and the trio let themselves go? What if Raoul was not the son Athos wished for? What if D'Artagnan married Constance and had children, or at least one daughter he trained in sword-fighting?

I don't know how this story will work out.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer – 3 Musketeers and the characters belong to Alexander Dumas.

Thank you for the reviews. :)

Toni arrives in Paris in this chapter and meets the trio.

**Chapter 2**

_A highway outside Paris_

"God bless and keep you, child…" the gold-toothed gypsy woman grinned and cracked the reins of her horse. The painted caravans trundled onwards.

"You too, Rosa…" Toni waved a fond farewell to her travelling companions over the jingle of gypsy bells hanging from the reins of the gypsy horses.

"Toni! Send my regards to your papa!" Mama Rosa called out over her shoulder.

"I will…" Toni smiled. _Was her papa still alive?_ No one had heard from him since his fall into the creek. The neighbours and farm hands had dragged the creek but no body had been recovered. Mama Rosa was insistent that there was always hope, and Toni wanted to believe it.

Mama Rosa had a heart as big as her frame. Soon after her mother's death, Mama Rosa had lived with them for a while as her nurse to care for her in her father's absence. _"Your papa's a good man, Toni. Our Lady in Heaven will take care of him…"_ she would reassure her ward when D'Artagnan was late in returning home. Thus far, the Virgin had not failed them. Perhaps Toni should go offer a prayer in Notre Dame for her father's safe return.

She had been safe travelling among the gypsy clan on their annual pilgrimage. A lone woman had no place on the highways of the kingdom in such dangerous times. But now she was alone. Her plan was foolhardy, to say the least. Dress as a man and give fencing lessons to earn enough money to save her family farm. It sounded naïve now that she thought about it. There was no way she could get away with her plan in Gascony, there were few young men needing fencing lessons there and her aunt would be tearing up the countryside looking for her. _But in a large city like Paris…_ An old family friend of theirs, Monsieur de Treville, had started a fencing school after retiring from the king's service, so her papa said. He should be close to seventy by now. If the school still stood, he would need assistants to help him.

Taking a deep breath, she patted Cher Ami on his neck. The pony nickered and tossed his head. Toni fished out the silver cross her father had given her the last time they spoke. She now wore it under her shirt on a piece of cord round her neck. She kissed it for luck before returning it beneath her shirt. She pulled her father's old hat over her shoulder-length tresses. _Here goes nothing…_

* * *

><p>"Raoul! How you have grown!" Porthos enveloped his godson in a bear-hug, lifting the young man off his feet and carrying him in off the front steps.<p>

"Master Raoul," Planchet greeted their visitor warmly when the giant finally deigned to return the youth to earth.

"Well, Uncle Porthos… I need somewhere to stay, and it is so nice of you to let me shelter here a bit," the youth grinned. Raoul had written to his godfather for help and was pleased that Porthos had opened his house to him.

"My favourite godson is always welcome under my roof," his godfather laughed heartily. "Well, what brings you to Paris, Raoul?"

"Well, I'm trying to make a name for myself, writing plays, you know. Theatre and acting. I'm breaking off ties with that old drunk… Is that chicken?" Raoul sniffed the air. "Smells great!"

"Yes, young master. Roast chicken pie Provenance-style from last night. We saved a bit for you. Master Porthos was lucky at cards…" the servant beamed at this compliment. "Master Porthos had me prepare the upstairs room for your stay. Let me take your bag…" the servant took the bag from Raoul.

"That's great! I love the view from the…" the smile faded from Raoul's face when he saw the dark-haired man scowling at him from behind the servant and Porthos. Athos had beaten his son to Porthos' place. "Hullo, father…" Raoul grated. The joviality had drained out of the atmosphere.

"Hullo, son. Old drunk, eh? Let's get you over to the army barracks…" Athos took the bag from Planchet.

"Father! I refuse to be a soldier." Both father and son were equally stubborn and even the normally slow Planchet could see the signs of an impending storm.

"You want to prance about before the populace dressed as a fop and speaking bad poetry instead of doing your duty to King and country. I should have known you would be a bane since that blasted August you were born! You take after your mother!" Athos thrust the bag at his son.

"Leave mother out of this and I would have you know I was born in June!"

"That would explain a bit. That woman…" Athos spat. Father and son glared at each other.

"Now, now… how about we sit down and have a nice talk… Planchet! Wine!" Porthos started. It was too late. Raoul took his bag and stormed off into the streets.

"Athos, he is your son…" Porthos groaned in dismay. He had hoped the pair would talk things over amiably. "Come on, man. He is the splitting image of you in your youth, has your bloody temper too."

"He takes after that faithless wife of mine. We were first cousins, so of course there was a family resemblance. Nine months before my so-called son was born, we were away in Barcelona spying on the Spaniards and you know it. I have always had my suspicions. No son of mine would faint like a woman at the sight of a bit of blood," Athos muttered darkly.

"You know he is yours. Perhaps he came early. Babies do that all the time… You never really forgave her for that incident with Buckingham, did you?" Porthos said quietly. "Please, stop…" he took hold of Athos' arm to stop him from drinking another cup of wine. Mentioning his late wife's indiscretion was a mistake and Porthos knew it. Without a word, Athos threw on his cloak and stormed out of the house. Porthos groaned, buried his face in his hands and wished their friend Aramis was there to talk sense into the stubborn pair.

"Er, do I serve the chicken with the wine?" Planchet asked awkwardly. Porthos shook his head. He could use a walk to clear his head.

* * *

><p>Aramis hoped his face had not been hurt too badly. He was fond of his looks. Still feeling sore from the beating, he limped past the city gates. His cassock was in rags and he had only a few coins in his purse. He was dishevelled and covered with the dust of his arduous journey on foot to Paris. Porthos still lived in Paris and the defrocked priest hoped he would be able to shelter at his friend's place until he could work out his next step.<p>

With his last coins, he purchased a loaf of bread and a tankard of ale. His stomach was rumbling from hunger. He sat down on a bench outside the tavern to enjoy his crust and the warm sunshine. He bit into his bread and savoured the taste of food in his mouth. He smiled at a passing milkmaid. Suddenly his bread was snatched out of his hand. Aramis watched in horror as the smoky-grey pony gobbled down his bread.

"You ate my bread, you dumb beast!" he raised his staff.

Monsieur de Treville's school was not as well-known as Toni expected. She had to ask around a bit before getting directions. "Merci, Madame, for your kind direction. Two streets away, across the bridge and turn left…" Toni walked out of the tavern in time to see a beggar threatening Cher Ami.

"Unhand my horse, you knave!" she shouted. The pony made use of the distraction to bring one wicked hoof onto the hapless priest's foot. Aramis dropped his staff, clutched his foot and yelped in pain. Toni grinned and Cher Ami snorted with disdain.

"Control your dumb animal, boy!"

"He has a name and it is Cher Ami. You should apologize to him. He's sensitive," Toni patted Cher Ami's nose.

"Apologise to a dumb beast? Never!" Aramis reached for the sword under his cloak, quite forgetting he was unarmed.

"If you must insist on a duel, sir, I am afraid I am busy now. How about noon?" Toni replied. She had to find Monsieur de Treville's school and had little time to waste with some beggar.

"Noon, then… at St Madeline's Court," Aramis growled. Toni climbed back onto her steed and trotted off in the direction the tavern-wife had directed her in. Of course she had no intention of meeting up with some stranger for a duel. Duelling was illegal, after all, according to the city's laws.

* * *

><p>Athos had partaken heavily of wine at a dingy wine-shop since he left Porthos. Now he was starting to feel the effects. He staggered out of the shop and into the streets. "Watch out, sir!" the rider called out a warning too late. The street was narrow and Cher Ami butted into the former musketeers, knocking him into a pile of stinking refuse outside the shop.<p>

"Watch where you're driving that donkey, you twerp!" Athos cursed. "You could've killed someone."

"Perhaps it would help if someone weren't drunk on his feet!" Toni retorted. She did not want to waste time with a drunkard.

"Me, drunk! Didn't your father ever teach you manners, boy? Or were you raised by an ape?" Athos staggered to his feet.

"Don't insult my father!" Toni's temper flared. Sensing his mistress' displeasure, Cher Ami chose that instant to strike, stomping down on Athos' foot hard.

"I challenge you to a duel at noon!" Athos growled as he nursed his wounded foot and pride.

"One at St Madeline's Court," Toni shouted over her shoulder at her opponent. "I have another duel at noon."

* * *

><p>Porthos was proud of his new hat. Indeed, what he needed was some retail therapy after that disastrous incident at breakfast. Having purchased the hat, he walked out into the streets of Paris. A sudden gust of wind snatched it off his head. Greatly perturbed, Porthos ran after it as fast as he could with his corpulent size.<p>

"No!" The wind deposited his hat before Cher Ami. The pony snatched it up and started demolishing it while his oblivious mistress asked for directions from a nearby grocer.

"Unhand it, you damned donkey!" Porthos growled and lunged at the pony. Cher Ami reared up in retaliation and lashed out at his attacker. One hoof clomped down on Porthos' foot. Toni had to hold onto the reins to avoid being thrown from the saddle. She stroked the pony's mane and whispered into his ear. Thankfully, her skill as a horsewoman was sufficient to calm the agitated pony.

"Sir! I must insist you apologize for threatening my Cher Ami! And he's not a donkey!"

"He ate my hat!" Porthos protested.

"It's just an old hat!" The sorry-looking red rag hanging from Cher Ami's mouth was definitely not worth bothering about. "Besides, it doesn't match your clothes…" Toni could not help but grin at the overdressed Porthos. His paunch was all but bursting out of his doublet, which was a shocking blue hue with green trimmings.

"Are you questioning my fashion sense? I hereby challenge you to a duel!" Porthos blurted out. No country yokel was making fun of his taste. The pony spat out the ragged hat at Porthos' feet, adding insult to injury.

Toni rolled her eyes. "Two at St Madeline's Court…" she shrugged and urged her steed onwards. Perhaps the beggar, drunk and over-dressed noble would be able to amuse themselves waiting for their absent opponent. She had no intention of duelling with anyone on her first day in Paris, if possible, least of all a beggar, drunk and over-dressed fop.

* * *

><p>This was strange. The grocer had informed her that de Treville's fencing school was here. Instead, she was in a large courtyard surrounded by apparently dilapidated buildings. Surely she had not made a wrong turn somewhere… She tied up Cher Ami to a nearby tree. "Hello? Monsieur de Treville?" she called out softly and rapped on the door of the main building. The courtyard was silent apart from the cooing of sleepy pigeons in their dovecote. No one was in. She sat down on a barrel and fished out an apple from her saddlebag and ate it while waiting. It was not long before booted feet scrunched on the gravel path towards the courtyard.<p>

"Good lord, Aramis, you look a mess! The archbishop did not go easy on you, did he?"

"That's what he deserves for chasing nuns…"

"You're still drunk, Athos… and it is not yet noon…"

"Porthos, I have not yet spoken to you about sheltering my son…"

"Oh, Athos, drop it already. What you two need is to sit down and talk things over… Thanks for lending me a sword… Never do to go to a duel without one…"

Three men walked into the courtyard and Toni almost choked on her mouthful of apple. The beggar, the overdressed fop and the drunk had arrived. _Damn!_ She glanced at the ivy-encrusted sign on the wall. _St Madeline's Court. So much for not duelling… _Perhaps if she hid in one of the empty buildings… she looked around for an open door or window to a shed.

"Hey, look, Goldilocks is early…" _Too late._ She had to stand her ground. Running away from a duel on her first day in town would seriously dent her reputation as a fencing master. There was something about the trio she could not believe she had missed earlier. They were all experienced swordsmen from the way they held themselves. Close up, she could pick out the tell-tale callouses all swordsmen had on their hands.

"Gentlemen, I believe I owe you all a duel… Noon, one and two… Now, who first?" Toni ran her hand through her blond hair in a show of indifferent bravado. Cher Ami sensed her unease and tugged restlessly at his reins. Toni studied her opponents critically. The beggar looked exhausted. He had probably arrived in Paris after a long arduous trek. Dried mud clung to his worn-out boots. He was hardly in any state for a duel. The drunk was still reeling and had to be supported by the large-built stuffed shirt. Perhaps the drunk and the beggar would step down after a bit. She drew her sword with deliberate slowness. Surprisingly, it was the beggar who stood forward.

A scream tore through the air, startling the would-be combatants.

"No! Someone, help! Murder!" a woman's voice screeched. The four ran out of the courtyard and onto a horrific scene.

**Author's Notes:**

A bit of déjà vu for the 3 musketeers with Toni almost getting into a duel with all three of them, courtesy of her pony Cher Ami. Toni has blond hair like her mother, hence the reference to her as Goldilocks.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer – 3 Musketeers and the characters belong to Alexander Dumas pere.

Sorry it took me so long to continue. I had a bit of problem writing a convincing medley scene with the older and less able versions of the musketeers.

**Chapter 3**

A screaming woman was being restrained by a pair of burly men clad in the uniform of the King's guards. Three other guards were kicking a man who was curled up on the ground in a ball. The victim was already bleeding heavily from a head wound. Blood stained his white hair and the cobblestones red. He was an elderly man and could no longer stand up to the merciless assault.

"Stop! You'll kill him!" the woman's protest was silenced with a slap. A child of five or so clung onto the woman's skirts fearfully, too terrified to even cry out.

"Silence, wench!" one of the guards backhanded the woman.

Rage burned in Toni at the sight of the men's rough treatment of the family. She drew her sword. "Unhand her! You should be ashamed to call yourselves the King's guards!" she barrelled into the nearest man holding the woman. The sudden attack was sufficient to knock the man off balance, forcing him to release the woman.

"You young cur!" the guard spat and retaliated by drawing his sword. Toni did not hesitate. She flicked her sword upwards, slicing into the man's wrist and forcing him to drop his sword and cry out. At their comrade's cry of pain, the other guards abandoned their victims and turned their attention to the blond stranger who had so foolishly challenged them. The woman ran forward to the fallen man and helped him to his feet.

"This way," Aramis called out. He waved the wounded man and woman towards the safety of archway. Athos scooped up the child and hastily handed him to his mother. The ringing of steel on steel declared that the guards and the blond youth were in the midst of a heated exchange. Toni was no stranger to duelling. Her father had trained her since she was a little girl. However, this was the first time she was so vastly outnumbered and she was soon starting to feel the strain. There was a slight narrowing of the alleyway which Toni could use to force her opponents to face her one at a time, but she would be hemmed in herself… The hesitation was a mistake. It allowed one of the guards to get behind her. She was surrounded.

"We can't let them kill him, can we?" Porthos asked Athos as he watched the blond youth dodging a sword thrust from a guard and then blocking another opponent's attack.

"Nope. Hope you're still up to it…" Athos replied and drew his sword. Porthos grinned and followed suit. The pair plunged into the fray.

Toni was surprised when two of the men she was to duel with started fighting alongside her. "Merci, Monsieurs…" she gasped.

"Keep your eyes on the enemy, boy," Athos barked and blocked a slash from a guard which could have sliced into Toni. Chastised, she dodged a blow and struck out, landing a stab in the belly of one guard. Porthos whistled in admiration at that move. The boy had talent. For his part, Porthos was starting to feel the weight of all the extra pounds he had added to his frame since he left the musketeers. His breath soon came in ragged gasps and his strokes slowed.

"Porthos!" Athos glanced over his shoulder and spotted the danger closing in on his friend. The distraction allowed his opponent to slash into his thigh. Athos stumbled. Behind them, Toni despatched of another guard with a well-landed kick to the groin and a sharp rap to the back of the neck. The man fell like a sack of turnips.

* * *

><p>In the safety of the archway, Aramis made a cursory assessment of the patient's condition. The man's face was a bloody mask from his head wound and his eyes were bruised shut. The man was breathing, but he was pale from pain. Shock hit Aramis when he recognized that face.<p>

"Lord! Monsieur de Treville…" the priest gasped in shock. This was too much. Their former captain had been beaten up by a pack of thugs.

"How's my uncle?" the woman fretted even as she soothed her wailing child. Aramis noticed that she was fairly pretty with a rosy face and a plump, pleasing figure. She was in her late twenties but life had already etched the lines of care into her brow.

"Marie, I'll live…" Monsieur de Treville spat out a tooth. He blinked and stared at the priest. "Aramis? Is that you?" The awkward way he held his hand caused the priest some concern. The woman suddenly let out a squeal of fear when she looked back at the fight. Aramis glanced out and realized his friends were in grave danger. He seized his sword and ran out. The man standing over Athos raised his sword for a killing blow. Porthos was busy fighting off his opponents and the young stranger was too far away to be of aid, having been forced up a narrow stairway in the medley. Aramis' heart sank as he knew he would not be in time.

There was a loud pistol-crack and the man screamed in pain and clutched at his wrist. He had been shot. The sword clattered harmlessly on the street-cobbles. Athos leapt up and dealt the man a punch in the face. Porthos seized hold of his two opponents and knocked their skulls together while they were distracted by their comrade's scream. The remaining guards decided to beat a hasty retreat, dragging off their wounded comrades as they fled.

Athos turned and faced Toni, who was perched on the top of a short flight of steps. She was still holding the smoking pistol in her hand. She lowered the firearm slowly and made her way down the steps.

"Boy, where did you get that pistol from?" Athos asked slowly.

"F-from my father…" Toni replied, trying to get her breath.

"Is your father Georges D'Artagnan?" Athos asked carefully. Now that he had a chance to take a close look at the youth, there was a bit of D'Artagnan in the tilt of his chin but it was the eyes in which resemblance to his old friend was the strongest. For most part, the youth resembled Constance in his fair colouring. It has been years since he saw the Gascon.

"Yes, Monsieur…" Toni answered. All hints of drunkenness had left Athos. He extruded a commanding air which reminded her of her father when he was in one of his stern moods. He held up his hand for the pistol and she surrendered it. Athos took the spent pistol and inspected it closely. "Yes, this was the pistol I gave him when we parted. I'd recognize that filigree hand-grip anywhere, one of a pair. I trust your father still has the twin?"

"It's with me, sir…" Toni glanced warily as both Porthos and Aramis approached.

"Your name, boy?" Athos asked.

"T-Toni." She climbed down the few steps to the alley. She was slight-built like her father was.

"That was some neat sword-work, Toni! Your father trained you well. How's your father?" Porthos thumped Toni heartily on the shoulder, causing her to stumble from the blow.

"Hey, watch it, Porthos… You might break his back. Whatever brings you to Paris?" Aramis admonished his friend and shook Toni's hand. He glanced back to de Treville. Their former captain was limping out of the shelter of the archway with the aid of his niece. The young boy followed close by his mother's skirts.

"Monsieur de Treville! Let me take a look at that arm…" Aramis called out to the trio. A badly-set wrist would cause trouble for its owner in the future. It was very subdued de Treville who faced the trio of former musketeers. Unconsciously, he pulled his wounded arm close to his body under his cloak.

"Monsieur de Treville… My father has spoken much of you. I wish to teach fencing at your school…" Toni blurted out. She could not afford to let de Treville leave without offering her services as a teacher of fencing since she had no clue where the school was. "There is no more fencing school!" the woman spat. "Those damned bastards from the King's guards saw to it, scaring off the students and teachers, crippling my uncle…"

"Marie! That is quite enough!" Monsieur de Treville barked. Marie lapsed into a grudging silence and her skittish son hid behind her skirt at the change in the old man's demeanour. The former musketeers and Toni were loud in their exclamations.

"Monsieur! What has happened?"

"I should've cracked their skulls harder!"

"Your arm…"

"The fencing school! It was doing quite well last year… Papa told me…"

The old man gave a shrug. "Perhaps it is best you come with me," he said slowly and plodded off in the direction of St Madeline's Court.

* * *

><p>The room in which they were shown to was large and would have been used as a training hall for students in the school's heyday. Now it was crammed with dusty old furniture which once sat in a stately country house. Monsieur de Treville had been forced to sell off his properties in the country in a last desperate attempt to keep his school afloat. Among this jumble they found a clearing with a serviceable table and some chairs. Aramis tended Athos' thigh wound, which was more of a deep scratch and not as serious as it had first seemed. Toni excused herself to tend to her pony, politely refusing Marie's offer to have him stabled. "Cher Ami is a bit skittish…" Toni explained apologetically before hastening out. Marie brought in some watered wine and a platter of rye bread and cheese before retreating further into the shadows of the building with her son.<p>

"Marie Boulton, my sister's daughter," de Treville explained when he noticed Aramis' appreciative eye on her. "Married against her parents' wishes to a youth below her station and was disowned for it. She came to me for help when her husband died fighting in Spain leaving her near-penniless with a baby in her arms. She's a good woman." There was a hint of warning to the priest in the old captain's voice. Aramis nodded and tugged at his beard, which was starting to show a few strands of grey.

The passing years had etched their mark on all of them. Monsieur de Treville was now hunched and white-haired from age. He squinted often and his gnarled fingers spoke of arthritis. He kept his right hand tucked under his cloak, which he now wore against the drafts assaulting his weary old bones. Porthos's jet-black hair and beard spoke of hair dye and his massive bulk caused the sturdy chair to squeak under him. A lesser chair would have perished and dumped the occupant on the floor. Athos was still lean, but his face was haggard from too much drink. His brow was furrowed and his hair and beard were tinged with silver. They sat in awkward silence. Somewhere in the distance came the muffled sound of someone chopping wood. Muffled voices drifted in from the streets. There was stifled crash of something breaking. The King's Musketeers were a distant memory now for many. Their glory long faded. For one moment, the priest fancied they were going to sit there forgotten and crumble into dust like the mouldering furniture around them.

Toni returned at that moment, bringing in a breath of the present and the warm smells of the stable. "Monsieur de Treville, I'm so sorry about the door of your stable-stall. Cher Ami kicked it out, I promise I will fix it…" she gasped.

Porthos chuckled. "This reminds me of the time Buttercup took offence with Planchet." Athos and Aramis both grinned.

"That old mare kicked in the stable door trying to get to him, all because he forgot to change the hay in her stall like he promised D'Artagnan…" Athos snorted.

"My father has told me so much about you, Monsieur de Treville… and his three best friends in the musketeers…" Toni gushed, sounding much like an over-excited child.

"What exactly did he say of us, boy?" Athos asked.

"He told me they are an oversized clown, a lecherous priest and a bear of a drunk… but he'd trust them with his life," Toni replied. She saw no reason to correct the men as to her gender. "My father told me much of your adventures…" she paused and looked around the table. "Perhaps we can save this school…"

"No, the school is finished. I'm finished with fencing." Their old captain placed his right arm before him on the table. The fingers flopped uselessly. It was clear the tendons of the wrist had been cut and there was no way for de Treville to hold a sword in his hand again.

"The doctors say they could do nothing for him. That devil challenged him to a duel before his students last year and maimed him," Marie had returned soft-footed as a cat in the shadows. "They say my uncle is stirring up dissent against the king with his school. They accuse our teachers of spying for the enemy. How can that be when my uncle has always been so loyal? Failing to tarnish his good name, they sent that devil…"

"Marie, you have said enough!" de Treville tucked his crippled arm out of sight beneath his cloak. Marie placed a basket of apples on the table before leaving.

"Sir, who is this devil?" Athos asked.

"One of the cardinal's lackeys in the guard. If Richelieu was bad, his successor Mazarin would make him appear as a saint," the old man replied. "Porthos, even you who live within the city walls have no idea as to how deeply Cardinal Mazarin influences the royal court and the affairs of the capital."

"I hear rumours he is a confidant of the Queen Regent Anne," Aramis admitted. "When Richelieu died, she nominated him to the post. He later was nominated co-regent on Louis XIII's passing till his infant son reaches his majority. The young king should be reaching his majority soon. He recommended to Her Majesty the dissolution and merging of the Musketeer corps with the Cardinal's guards to form the new King's guards…"

The memory of the resulting upheaval was still fresh in their minds. A reluctant de Treville was named captain, only to be replaced after a scant three months by some upstart noble from near the Spanish border. Giving their prior record of brawling with the Cardinal's guards, the trio of Athos, Porthos and Aramis were dismissed over a fight in the stables. D'Artagnan would have been dismissed too, if it weren't for Queen Anne's intervention on the account of his newly-wed wife, Constance. They later heard that their young friend went into the court's service, possibly as a spy. Their paths rarely crossed since.

"Your grandfather wrote to me once, before he passed…" de Treville studied Toni. "He was pleased your father had finally settled down. He would be pleased to know he has a grandchild like you."

"I wish I could have known my grandfather, sir. Sadly, he passed of a fever when I was but a baby…" Toni answered. _Could the old man have guessed that she was not a boy as she was passing herself as?_

"What was D'Artagnan thinking not telling us he has a son?" Porthos exclaimed. "I've been in Paris all this while and he never bothered to write."

"Perhaps it is because he knows you wouldn't be able to read his letters," Aramis jibed. Porthos' near-illiteracy and D'Artagnan's bad penmanship have always been a sticking point for Aramis. "We have not been in touch. With Athos and me leaving Paris, and the royal court moving to Versailles…Of course, God knows where D'Artagnan's work takes him to. How's your father, Toni?"

Toni took a deep breath. She had been skirting the question, unable to answer it, lest her fears for her father's fate prove to be real. "My father, he, fell off a bridge… he hasn't been seen since…"

She still clung to that glimmer of hope that her father might return alive. Her words were all but drowned out by the dismayed exclamations from the former musketeers.

**Author's Notes:**

I believe Richelieu would be a very old man himself now (perhaps too old for plotting?), so I have cast a new character as the cardinal instead.

A most unexpected reunion and more antics from Cher Ami.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer – 3 Musketeers and the characters belong to Alexander Dumas pere.

Thank you for the reviews. A special thank you to Suthernbell85 for inspiring a little plot bunny about horses.

**Chapter 4**

"D'Artagnan, dead?" Athos blanched. He reached for his cup, only to have Aramis snatch it out of his reach. The man had already taken too much wine for the early hour. Shock and disbelief were printed on all the three men's faces. Monsieur de Treville bent his head slightly, his lips trembling as if mouthing a silent prayer. Haltingly and fighting to hold back her unbecoming sobs, Toni related the attack she had witnessed and her father's deadly plunge into the swollen creek.

"Who are these men who attacked your father?" Athos demanded. The icy edge in his voice promised vengeance for his comrade.

"I do not know, monsieur. They were masked. Except for one, I did not see their faces…" Toni blinked away tears. Perhaps she was hoping against hope her father survived.

"Toni, if you need to cry for your father, go ahead…" Aramis murmured and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"D'Artagnan, your father, has as many lives as a cat," Porthos tried to assure Toni. "He's always one to beat the odds."

"The man whose face you did see, would you recognize him if you saw him again?" Athos all but growled.

"Yes, monsieur. If my father is indeed dead, I'll kill that man," Toni replied quietly. "I'll recognize him anywhere…"

Porthos cleared his throat awkwardly. "Do you have a place to stay, Toni?"

"No, monsieur… I just got to Paris…" Toni replied.

"You can stay with us," Porthos said. "I have a spare room in my house."

"Monsieur, I can't possibly impose on you…"

"No buts, boy!" Porthos chided. "I'll have Planchet fix up dinner for you. You could use some meat on those bones…" He slapped Toni on the back.

"But I thought you have my son staying in that spare room," Athos questioned.

"I met Raoul earlier. He said he will be staying with some friends from the theatre. You scared him off, Athos," Porthos made a wry face. "Oh, he gave me some tickets for the play opening tomorrow. It's not one of his but we could go… _The Merry Widow of Marseilles_. I hear it's a good comedy."

"I am not wasting my time watching some clowns prance about on stage," Athos snorted. "Aramis! Let me have a drink…"

"You have jaundiced skin, hand-tremors and I fear your liver is in very poor condition. As your attending doctor, I insist you refrain from wine and I will prescribe a tisane…" Aramis resolutely moved the wine bottle out of Athos' reach.

"Damn it, Aramis! Just because I let you bind up my leg doesn't make you my nursemaid. Give me that bottle!" Athos staggered to his feet and approached Aramis menacingly. Aramis decided to run, with the wine. "Aramis!" Athos hollered and chased after the abbe.

"I will show you some of the city's finest attractions…" Porthos whispered conspiringly. "Madame Defarges' girls will make any visitor to Paris…"

"Porthos, I doubt D'Artagnan will be amused by your corrupting his son in the local brothels…" de Treville pointed out. He winced at the sound of smashing porcelain. Aramis and Athos had knocked over a vase, most likely the one his great-grandfather brought back from Venice.

"We're too old for this, Aramis…" Athos' voice wheezed from somewhere.

* * *

><p>"It's the Rochefort's ghost I tell you!" the soldier insisted. "I just saw him… just like they say…"<p>

"Nonsense!" his companion chided. "Why would his ghost haunt Notre Dame Cathedral?"

"He died here, didn't 'e? Saw 'is eye-patch, clear as day…"

"Shush! He might just appear…" the second soldier hastily genuflected before the Virgin and made his humble offering of a candle before hurrying off with his friend.

The man in the shadows waited until the footsteps died away before he stepped out of hiding. He self-consciously touched the eye-patch over his injured eye. The old friar did what he could for him but he was still having problems seeing out of it. To avoid straining his bad eye, the old man had proposed an eye-patch. It was odd having his vision reduced so much. His perception of depth and distance was a bit off now. Still, he should be thanking God and His angels he was still alive. He had been dangerously close to death, lost in a delirium with the fever for close to a week. Only the stubbornness of the travelling friar who had stumbled across him saved his life.

He never expected he would be riding into Paris in the company of Brother Martin and on a donkey wearing the friar's spare set of clothes. His own were quite unusable despite the friar's attempt at salvaging them. He had lost his sword. However, he had learnt to keep certain well-equipped hidey-holes he could retreat to. Brother Martin was most insistent he stayed at the local abbey until he had fully recovered but that might be risking the good friar and his brothers in Christ. So he had sneaked out of the abbey before matins. No doubt the friar must be in a fair temper by now.

He patted his hip and savoured the familiar weight of a good sword on his belt. His knee was still a bit stiff, as was his shoulder. Most of the wounds he had suffered in the fight and subsequent fall had recovered sufficiently well. His jaw had mended enough for him to speak and eat solid food. If only his sight… He touched the eye-patch. The cathedral was empty now. He walked soundlessly over to the Virgin and prayed.

His daughter was a strong, independent girl. She could take care of herself. He wished he could have returned to his farm or to his aunt's to reassure himself she was safe. No. His duty to France, and the young king, must take priority over everything else. The Queen's clerk he spoke with at Versailles was no doubt in the Cardinal's pay. _Who could he trust?_ He had gone to Monsieur de Treville's fencing school the day before but the place was deserted. He feared de Treville had closed his school and left the city. The King's guards, under the Cardinal Mazarin's direction no doubt, were not too tolerant about an independent fencing school so close to their headquarters.

He stepped out of the cathedral, careful to pull his hat low to shield his face. He strolled over to _The Three Guards_ across the bridge and was surprised to see a familiar grey pony tied up outside the inn. Cher Ami whickered and nudged him, recognizing him.

"What are you doing here, old friend?" he patted the horse's nose. _Could she be in Paris? But why?_

A booming laugh echoed from within the inn's taproom. He would recognize that laugh anywhere. He stepped into the building. It was crowded but he picked out the owner of that laugh at a table in the corner.

Porthos had put on weight. His paunch was almost bursting out of his doublet as he scoffed down a large game pie. "I tell you, Aramis… I get tired so easily… Another pie please!" he called out to a passing serving girl.

"Perhaps you'd be able to walk without panting if you lose some weight," Athos added as he groped for his tankard. "All that weight must slow…" His nose was red from too much drink.

"It was not me who almost got his skull cracked in," Porthos retorted.

"Athos, with your injury, you shouldn't drink so much. Porthos… that is your fifth pie already…" Aramis advised.

"Quit acting like a nagging old nursemaid, abbe…" Porthos playfully dealt the priest a punch to the shoulder. Aramis winced as it landed on his badly-bruised shoulder. There was a blond youth with them, whose back was turned to the door. He was possibly some acquaintance of theirs. _Should he approach them?_ He hesitated. It has been too long and clearly age has caught up with them, not to mention soft living. The trio seemed painfully diminished for most part. Porthos' girth would have slowed him in any fight. Athos was looking like a habitual drunk and Aramis appeared much older than he should. His clothes were shabby, something the old Aramis would never have allowed.

Instead, he scanned the crowd of customers for his daughter. There was no sign of any blond females in the mostly male crowd. She might be upstairs in one of the rooms. It was a respectable inn, even if the taproom crowd was a bit rowdy at times. He decided to leave and turned to go, just as Porthos looked towards the door.

"A-aramis, I think the pies are getting to me. I could have sworn I saw Rochefort standing at the door just now…" Porthos rubbed his eyes and blinked.

"It's just a trick of the sun…" Aramis squinted into the bright light outside the door. There was no one particularly interesting to him, except maybe the saucy wench with low-cut blouse serving the table nearest the door.

"But that eye-patch…"

"Lots of old soldiers have eye-patches after the war. You probably saw one of them…" Athos pointed out. "Now, we were discussing how best to start Toni off on his career as a fencing teacher… I have just the student in mind for him to start on. A beginner, really…"

Outside, Cher Ami whickered and twitched his ears as the man with the eye-patch patted his nose. "Take care of her for me, please…" The pony tossed his head in reply. Cher Ami was a smart pony for all his stubbornness and foul temper. As soon as the man walked away, the pony turned his wicked attentions to a sedate chestnut mare tied up beside him.

* * *

><p>"Vicomte! Don't dally too long. We still need to work on our lines," Pierre grinned impishly and gave a half-mocking bow to his roommate. Guy was putting the last touches to a prop horse for the play. Jacques was polishing a prop sword to a proud gleam. There was much work to be done by the troupe before opening night. Everyone liked Raoul for his generosity and deep purse. It kept their little troupe well-equipped with props, costumes and decent quarters.<p>

"I'll catch up with you at the theatre later, after I get my mare shod," Raoul called out. Bon-Bon was a sweet-natured chestnut mare he had just purchased in the marketplace. She could use some new horseshoes, and a stylish new saddle. Still musing about the colour of the bridle he wanted to buy for his new steed, he walked down the stairs and into the taproom.

"Here comes your first student!" Athos' voice boomed across the room. He had caught sight of his son coming down the stairs. Raoul scowled and glared at his father. The likeness between both men was unmistakeable. Toni swallowed hard when she saw the young man. She had expected a young boy. Most boys start lessons under their fencing masters well before eighth tenth birthday. He must be older than her by at least one or two years. He cut a very handsome figure in those stylish garments, especially with that jaunty white feather in his hat. He was clean-shaven, a daring fashion which was just catching on in the city. It only showed off his handsome features all the better. Toni felt her cheeks flaring red. She hastily looked away.

"Oh, no, I am not taking up fencing so as to be a soldier to please a stubborn old drunk," Raoul retorted and headed for the door. Athos strode over and blocked his son's path. The younger man glared back as his father. Even their fellow customers sensed the chill in the air. The more timid ones discreetly moved away from the pair in anticipation of a brawl.

"Toni, meet Raoul, your first student."

Toni stood and managed to walk over and mutter a greeting. She hoped her cheeks were not blushing and if they were, she prayed that it was dim enough in the taproom to hide it. Raoul, still smarting from his earlier run-in with his father, pushed past Toni without a second look. Athos shouted for him to stop. Failing to stop his son, he called out to a nearby serving wench.

"More wine and make sure it's not watered down!" With that, he stormed back to their table.

* * *

><p>Raoul stormed out of the inn and stopped. His jaw dropped. Bon-Bon was enjoying the ardent attentions of a grey pony. The mare was taller than the pony but that did not deter the little stallion. Cher Ami whinnied and nuzzled the object of his affections. Bon-Bon was apparently flirting with the pony from her excited nickers.<p>

"Get away from my Bon-Bon, you mangy hack!" the young man shouted and waved his riding crop in a threatening manner. Cher Ami only snorted in disdain and then ignored the outraged Raoul.

"Since your horse is busy, you might as well as listen to your father and take an hour or so's instruction under Toni," Aramis remarked philosophically. The commotion had drawn both Porthos and Aramis out into the street. The increasingly vigorous antics of the horses were drawing the interest and attention of many passers-by. Some even shouted encouragement to the gutsy grey pony. Raoul groaned and tried to pull his mare away. Her suitor retaliated with a fierce nip to his forearm.

"Ow!" the young man yelped from the pain. His eyes widened in horror when he saw his blood welling from the bite. The world swam around him. The last thing he recalled before blacking out was a slight figure with blond hair catching him.

Toni staggered under the dead weight as Raoul went limp. Thankfully Porthos was by her side and he managed to take part of the weight off her shoulders. She had walked out of the inn after failing to dissuade Athos from ordering another bottle of wine and witnessed her student collapsing. _Did Cher Ami kick him?_ There was some blood from a bite-mark on his arm but it did not look too bad… She checked his face and head for any bruises or contusions. "Was he kicked by my horse?"

"No, Toni. He, er, fainted…" Porthos replied.

"Is he ill? We better get a doctor," Toni asked as they shouldered Raoul over to a bench where they laid him out. Aramis hastened over to help.

"His pulse is strong. No signs of sunstroke…" Aramis immediately looked over the young man and felt his pulse.

"Er, my godson has a teeny-weeny problem with blood…" Porthos started and glanced cautiously at Toni. He considered if he should share Raoul's condition with Toni.

"Good Lord, is he one of those boys who suffer from the bleeding illness? They rarely live this long… Athos should see to his son…" Aramis inspected the wound. He had witnessed a case of that rare disease in a Benedictine hospital once, the only son of a merchant couple. All medicine and prayers had failed them in the end. The blood flow had slowed and Raoul had no signs of that dreaded illness as far as the priest could see.

"Er, he faints at the sight of blood," Porthos admitted finally.

"I sent home instructions for my wife to hire a fencing instructor for the boy. What did she do? That woman goes hire a goddamned Italian dancing master. Dancing! Can you imagine that? A simpering Florentine popinjay…" Aramis and Porthos winced at the sounds of Athos ranting on about his late wife. When Athos got both angry and drunk, it was impossible to talk sense into him.

**Author's Notes: **

Yes, I finally sorted out my dilemma about a certain character's fate. The trio of former musketeers will not be pleased their friend thought they were not up to a good fight.

Poor Athos, his family life apparently is nothing to crow about.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer – 3 Musketeers and the characters belong to Alexander Dumas pere.

Raoul's first fencing lesson under Toni and a bit of flirting?

I'm adding a bit on what D'Artagnan is up to and the intrigues in the palace.

**Chapter 5**

"I'll do it but I will not like it," Raoul scowled. The commotion had drawn the attention of his fellow troupe members. A good number of them, including his three roommates were lined up on one side of the courtyard in the shade. So were the three former musketeers. Athos was taking swallows from the wine bottle he toted. A giggling pair of serving girls peered furtively at the handsome youths from an upstairs window. Toni felt a little awkward with so many eyes on them. Raoul still looked a shade too green for Aramis' liking, but Athos insisted that the lesson started immediately.

Now that Raoul had a chance to study his teacher, he was not impressed. Toni was slight-built. He was definitely a few years Raoul's junior, his voice was still of a boyish timbre. His hair was a shade of pale gold that many of the ladies of the court would gladly kill for. His chin and cheeks were smooth without the need for a razor. Raoul had to shave every other day to keep up to the fashionable standards set by the court. Of course, clean-shaven was the fashion for now as His Majesty King Louis, aged fifteen, made it so. Once the young king started spouting fuzz on his chin and facial hair became fashionable once more, Raoul would be glad to forgo his razor. Raoul was still smarting from his less-than-manly swooning earlier thanks to that pony nipping him.

They were using the prop swords instead of real weapons to minimize the likelihood of injury and for their lighter weight. That was the only concession Athos allowed for his son.

"You're holding the hilt all wrong," Toni pointed out. "Really?" Raoul yawned. "That's how we hold them on stage…"

"If this were a real sword, you'll be dropping it on your toes the way you're gripping it. Grip here. It will balance better…" Toni corrected her reluctant student. Raoul could not help but notice how small and slender her hands were. They were those of a scholar, or a woman, rather than a swordsman. They felt warm on his hands as they moulded his stubborn fingers round the hilt. He stole a glance at his teacher's face. Toni had her eyes downcast, almost in the manner of a shy lady.

"Now, some basic footwork… One-two…"

"It's a bit like dancing, isn't it?" Raoul could not help jesting. "May I have the next dance, madam?" Toni flushed crimson at Raoul's words. He gave her a bow as if she were a court lady. The troupe roared with laughter at her discomfiture. A few shouted lewd jokes but all were swiftly silenced by Athos' glare.

"Your son must be very popular with the court ladies with that wit…" Aramis noted. Athos snorted. "That's what you get from the theatre and dancing…"

"But I hear from Marie that dancing and theatre is all the rage at the royal court. His Majesty and the Queen Regent, they are both crazy about dancing and theatre," Porthos said. "Good Lord in Heaven! What has become of France?" Athos rolled his eyes and gulped another mouthful of wine before Aramis succeeded in wresting the bottle from him.

* * *

><p><em>Versailles. The Palace<em>

D'Artagnan slipped into the palace with relative ease. He knew his way around so well, he could do so even if he were blindfolded. The palace building was still under construction for most part. Masons, carpenters and plasterers mingled with the guards. However, the Grand Hall and Queen's chambers had long been completed and furnished. Anne of Austria's fading health was the reason for the move away from the crowded city of Paris and its unhealthy air. The Queen never quite recovered her strength after the birth. Mazarin encouraged the move as a means of removing Anne from the country's capital. It worried many of the senior courtiers how Louis XIV held extravagant balls and plays to entertain his mother and his friends in Versailles, often to the point of neglecting his official duties in Paris. Louis was a spoilt, pampered boy, in D'Artagnan's honest opinion, but no one could fault him where his mother was concerned. Mother and son were exceptionally close.

Now that D'Artagnan had stumbled onto the full extent of Mazarin's scheme, he had to warn the Queen Regent. Louis would not listen to him, but he would, hopefully, listen to his mother. Recently, with his majority looming, young Louis had been testing his boundaries with his regents. He had argued with the cardinal over a peace accord with the Spanish and disagreed with his mother over his engagement to his cousin. Then there was that duel in the palace garden which ended with the Spanish ambassador's nephew being mortally wounded. As far as D'Artagnan could pick out from the gossip, the cause was His Majesty challenging the Spaniard over the affections of a young courtesan.

"Shut the door, it's cold…" Anne's voice complained tersely from deep within her quilts and cushions. "Louis, is that you?" she coughed. Her face was pinched and waxen from her illness. Once, D'Artagnan suspected Mazarin of administered some slow-acting poison to the queen, but his fears were since allayed by the court physicians. If Mazarin had indeed poisoned her, God help him.

"Louis?" Anne voice called out insistently.

"Your Majesty, it's D'Artagnan…" He knelt before the grand bed in which Anne spent most of her waking hours for the last month.

"Rise, and approach. We can't see you there… Have you news of Philippe?" the hope was there in her voice. It had always been there since she learnt of Mazarin's lies. D'Artagnan almost hated himself as he shook his head.

"We trusted him, entirely. We've nurtured a serpent in our bosom… My poor son…" Anne moaned. To the public, both regents presented a united front, but D'Artagnan knew the truth. Queen Anne and Cardinal Mazarin hated each other immensely now as they vied for control of the young king. Any goodwill that had existed between the pair was born of necessity to stand against Richelieu. With Richelieu gone and the post of cardinal secured, Mazarin set his sights on other more ambitious goals.

"I fear His Majesty may be in danger," D'Artagnan admitted. "And Your Majesty too…"

"Louis does not know… As a mother, we loved him twice more than any child, for we spent the affections we would have spent on Philippe on him as well…" Anne started. "You were there, D'Artagnan. You know what happened…"

* * *

><p><em>15 years ago…<em>

"The Queen, has she delivered? Oh God above…" King Louis XIII paced the floor restlessly as both D'Artagnan and the newly-appointed secretary to Richelieu, Bishop Mazarin, watched. The cardinal had been stricken down by a case of lung-fever and was unable to attend the royal birthing. D'Artagnan understood the king's current mood. He had been there once, when Constance was delivering their child. It was a rare honour for him to be present at the birth of a royal infant. The king had requested it. Louis XIII would probably have asked for Porthos, Aramis and Athos to be present too had they been in the palace then. The court physicians, midwives and their assistants all but blocked the men's view of the queen's childbed but the weak moans and flustered whispered of the attendants told them the royal infant was yet to make its appearance.

Things were grim. France's very future hung in the balance. A few months ago, Louis XIII had the misfortune to be stricken by an illness which possibly rendered him sterile even though he recovered. They did not know then that the king was to die before his son's third birthday in a riding accident. The baby was too early and the Queen's labour had gone on for a full day and night. A shrill wail finally announced the birth of the dauphin. The swaddled baby boy was swiftly presented to his royal sire. The queen's agonies were not yet over.

"Another child!" the physician shouted. "A breech-birth!" The royal midwives and physicians struggled and argued. The infant simply refused to come. Now the mother's life was in danger. Anne's moans died off suddenly and everyone feared the worst. "A priest! Send for a priest!"

Mazarin started to shove his way through the throng. Louis XIII handed his new-born son to D'Artagnan, who happened to be standing nearest to him.

"No, Anne! Don't leave me!" Louis XIII was by his wife's side, chafing her hands. When the queen failed to stir, the distraught king cast his eyes upwards imploringly.

"God, please let them live! We promise to dedicate this child to the church…" Heaven took pity on the beleaguered king then. The queen's eyes fluttered open and she managed a final push. With a weak wail, the dauphin's twin brother was born.

* * *

><p>Both children were duly baptised in a small and private ceremony in light of their poor health. It would be a full three months before they were strong enough to be presented to the populace at Notre Dame. On the eve of the celebrations of their first birthday, Louis XIII was reminded of his vow to God when Anne was stricken with a bout of brain fever. Arrangements were made for the younger boy to be raised by the church for a monastic life. Naturally, Anne was distraught when she found out one of her sons was gone. She was able to console herself with visits to the boy, travelling incognito and under D'Artagnan's protection, until his fourth year, when a deadly fire broke out at the convent where he was being raised.<p>

D'Artagnan now suspected the origins of the fire. The poor children and nuns were all but burnt to ashes in the inferno and Anne had long believed her son was with the angels. It was a chance encounter which proved otherwise. He had been looking into some irregularities regarding the cardinal when he found out that since the fire, Mazarin had been paying out money on a monthly basis to various households around the country. At first he suspected the man had an illegitimate child. One day, he was spying on the cardinal as he called on a cottage in Provenance. The boy who came running out to greet the cardinal was the splitting image of His Majesty. It was a pity the cardinal suspected they were being observed and had the child removed swiftly and secretly from the area. The households who sheltered the child had an unpleasant tendency of disappearing once they had served their purpose.

He had tried to locate the boy for close to two years before learning that the cardinal had secured a separate house for three of the King's Guards at St Remy's. Young Philippe was held there he had confirmed that, but the prince's housemates caught on. The youth was gone from St Remy's and the house vacated. God knows where Mazarin had hidden him now.

"He means to have you and His Majesty killed and His Majesty replaced with Philippe with himself as the power behind the throne," D'Artagnan confided.

"Is Philippe that much like Louis?"

"A mirror image."

**Author's Notes:**

Yes, I have taken a leaf from the plot of the Man in the Iron Mask in the switcheroo plot.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer – 3 Musketeers and the characters belong to Alexander Dumas pere.

Thanks for the reviews. D'Artagnan gets a thrashing from his king. A spat between Raoul and Toni ends with a scene in the street.

**Chapter 6**

"D'Artagnan, your _lies_ are distressing Her Majesty…" a young man's voice, still retaining its childish timbre, snapped suddenly from behind D'Artagnan. The former musketeer turned around and was dealt a blow across the face from a riding crop. It was his king. Louis XIV was livid. "We forbid you from approaching the Queen Regent and any defiance on your part will be taken as an act of treason! The Bastille is too good for the likes of you!" He raised his riding crop.

His cheek cut and bleeding, D'Artagnan could only kneel submissively in anticipation of further punishment at the hands of his king. Louis never listened to anyone but those few he either favoured or respected, of which D'Artagnan was not. The stinging blows fell on his shoulders.

"Louis! Stop that please!" Anne's voice rose in protest of this harsh treatment of her loyal servant. Louis finally relented, throwing his riding crop onto the floor in disgust. "Leave us now!"

The parting kick to his shin as he struggled to stand was delivered as if by an ill-tempered child. D'Artagnan gritted his teeth against the pain and limped hurriedly out of the room. Behind him, he could hear the voices of both mother and son. Louis' voice was shrill with indignation as his mother tried to calm and reason with him. Perhaps she would tell him of his twin brother, still alive out there and the threat of Mazarin… Yet D'Artagnan feared that Louis might act disastrously against the cardinal in light of his treachery and thus incur the wrath of the Church.

_A child._ That was what Louis still was. He could lash out at his friends over some perceived slight and threaten the visiting diplomats from Spain and England with the Bastille as easily as a spoilt child might kick a puppy and later regret it. Cardinal Mazarin often had the thankless duty of soothing ruffled feathers among the Spanish and English envoys. It was unsettling how Mazarin was an integral part of the kingdom's diplomatic corps. Queen Anne's position as a woman and her constant ill health did not allow her to play as big a part as she hoped in the kingdom's matters.

* * *

><p><em>Paris. <em>

For a moment, Toni blinked her eyes in confusion. She had expected to awake in that bed in her aunt's guestroom, or in a gypsy caravan. Slowly the events of the day before came back to her. Lazily, she sat up. Her childhood on the farm made her an early riser and she was glad of it. There would be time to complete her toilette before the rest of the household awoke. After a hearty dinner, Athos had returned to his room at _The Dauphin_. Porthos had also agreed to put Aramis up in the spare room downstairs, having promised the upstairs room to Toni. The upstairs room was the best. Porthos used to occupy it until it became difficult for him to walk up the stairs. She thanked the saints Porthos did not make good on his promise to introduce her to some Parisian whorehouse. Aramis and Porthos were still reminiscing about the old days when Toni excused herself for bed. Surely they must still be in bed.

She washed her face in the basin of icy-cold water left in her room and brushed her hair. She fastened the bindings around her chest to flatten her breast before pulling on her shirt. Having secured her disguise, she cautiously unlatched the door of her room, surprising Planchet. She had forgotten about the servant.

"Monsieur! Apologies, I was not expecting you up so early…" the servant started. He was holding a jug of steamy-hot water for her to wash with.

"I-I need to tend my horse…" Toni lied clumsily as she took the jug from Planchet.

"Please, leave that to old Planchet."

"Er, Cher Ami is fussy and he has a mean temper. Doesn't take kindly to strangers, I'm afraid…"

"Oh- In that case, would you like me to prepare some breakfast. We have bacon and eggs…" Planchet ventured.

"Yes, please…" Toni shut the door in the old servant's face and locked the door. _Warm water_, her heart sang in glee. She had been deprived of warm water to wash with ever since she left Gascony. Her gypsy companions preferred washing in the nearest and often cold stream or pool rather than waste good firewood heating water for washing with. The few baths she had were often hurried affairs while Mama Rosa stood guard with a frying pan to deal with any would-be voyeurs. Toni grabbed a towel and started on her washing with renewed vigour.

Aramis and Porthos were both awake and at breakfast despite Toni's expectations. Aramis was used to the early hours kept by the monks. Porthos had been roused from sleep by the disastrous failure of the bed beneath him. It had taken both Planchet and Aramis an hour removing the splinters from his flesh. Only Toni's location at the top of the house muffled the commotion and allowed her to sleep through it.

"Boy will never make a soldier. Soldiers have to deal with blood and spilled guts on the battlefield but Raoul cannot abide the sight of blood. If only Athos will see sense," Porthos said quietly. "Theatre isn't that bad… in my opinion, at least. The women are pretty enough…"

"He is a vicomte, Porthos. They can't marry the first girl they fancy… Athos probably has some noble lady lined up for him. Noble ladies prefer their husbands to hold rank in the military these days…" Aramis observed.

"Thought Athos might have learnt from his own disastrous marriage. He never cared for Lady Josephine de Beauforte but the old count ordered him to go through with the ceremony or he tells the captain of the musketeers back then not to accept his son… Why, you gone pale, Aramis!"

Aramis swallowed hard and managed out a squeak. "N-nothing…" _Josephine de Beauforte, that neglected dark-haired countess he met on that pilgrimage so long ago… She was so warm beside him under the blankets… _His troubled thoughts were rudely interrupted by the sound of yelling in the streets.

Toni was smiling by the time she was done with her toilette. Taking the basin of washing water, she emptied it out of the window without glancing out of it. Raoul was standing below, pondering on whether he should try saving a few coins on breakfast by joining his godfather for the meal. His father had made good on his threat to cut his finances and Raoul needed every coin he had. Suddenly, a shower of warm water cascaded onto his head, drenching him. Raoul was also shocked to see the dye on his expensive new doublet running.

"My clothes! You ruined my clothes!"

"Sorry! Didn't see you down there," Toni called out from her window.

"You damned country yokel!"

"Hey, I said I'm sorry already! Keep it down, folks are still sleeping!"

The two older men emerged from the front door to see a livid Raoul colourfully cursing Toni and Toni retaliating with barbs of her own. A few of the neighbours were peering out of their windows watching the sport.

"Your father's a smelly Gascon horse-farmer!"

"At least it beats having a father who dives into wine barrels!" More windows in the neighbourhood swung open, as did some doors.

"Your mother's a…" Aramis winced at the next word out of Raoul's lips. If D'Artagnan had heard that insult on Constance's honour, being wet would be the least of Raoul's worries.

"Leave my mama out of it!" A dagger whizzed through the air and narrowly missed pinning Raoul's foot to the ground. A few heartbeats later, a furious Toni stormed out of the house and slapped Raoul across the face. It had gone on far enough. Porthos took hold of Raoul about the chest and arms and hoisted him off the ground. Aramis took hold of Toni's wrist and twisted her arm behind her back.

"Now, Toni, let's talk this through over some breakfast…" he forcibly marched Toni back inside.

"What are you looking at? Show's over!" Porthos bellowed at the onlookers as he bundled his sodden and struggling godson within. "Planchet! Towels and a suit of dry clothes!"

* * *

><p>"When he started to show an interest in women, you had to bring back that toothless, balding whore for his bed. Congrats, mon ami. You've scared the pup into celibacy…"<p>

"Think His Holiness is done yet? They are taking longer than usual… You don't suppose any…"

Michel glanced up from the piece of wood he had been whittling and at his companions. Rafael and Gabriel always looked to him for leadership. Under all the bluster and jesting, they were worried about the boy. With a resigned sigh, he placed the half-formed wolf on the table top and drove the knifepoint into the wood next to it. The cardinal jokingly referred to the trio as his Archangels from the names they had chosen for themselves. They were not angels but wolves, paid mercenaries. Still wolves always watched out for their pups and young Philippe was their pup.

Michel let his amber eyes fall on his comrades until the intensity of his glare forced them to look at their boots. _Wolves' eyes_, the nuns who had raised him after his father's disgrace had referred to his striking eyes thus. The superstitious fools would then cross themselves when they think he was not looking and pray for protection against the Devil. _Sons of traitors never prosper,_ the other nobles who had been so friendly with his father shut the door on him and his poor little brother, leaving them to brave the dark and dangerous trek through wolf-infested countryside alone to the dubious safety of a convent. His little brother's name was also Philippe and he died in his arms, coughing blood and gasping for breath. Michel had held the corpse in his arms for days with the nuns too fearful of his stare to approach him. It was a bishop who finally convinced him to surrender the rotting corpse for burial. That bishop was Mazarin.

"I'll go check," Michel rose from his chair and headed for the room where Philippe spent his days. The door was ajar.

"A little more," the cardinal urged. Their pup bit his lip and struggled to walk without stumbling on his bad leg. Mazarin was holding the crutch in his hands and Philippe would have to walk over to him to get it. The effort proved too much and he stumbled. Michel dove forward to catch the boy before he fell. The boy's clothes were drenched with sweat from his exertions.

"S-sorry, Father… Let me try again please…" Philippe gasped.

"That will be enough for today…" Mazarin threw the crutch on the floor before the pair. He had seen the murderous glint in Michel's eyes. The man was an assassin like the other two. Mazarin used the trio for his dirty work in exchange for his protection against those dark secrets in the trio's past. The alliance between his Archangels and himself had been called into question with increasing frequency and he blamed himself for it. When he put a twelve-year-old Philippe into their care, he did not expect the trio to actually start liking the boy. Perhaps he should have expected it of Michel, given what he knew of the man's past. He spun on his heel and left.

"Father?" Philippe's voice called out. The boy sounded like he was on the verge of tears. Despite his best efforts, Philippe could not master the mannerisms of the king. They shared the same face but they were very different young men. He could dress Philippe in Louis' clothes, dress his hair in the style Louis favoured and yet it would still be Philippe. Timid little mouse could never act the part of the fearless lion Louis was. There was also that infernal limp from that riding accident.

* * *

><p>"Does it hurt?" Gabriel fussed over Philippe's ankle. His large hands were surprisingly gentle as he massaged the swollen joint. The boy shook his head. The foul stench from the kitchen announced that Rafael was concocting one of his ointments. Michel knew little of his companions' pasts. Rafael had some knowledge of medicine. He had taken a particular offence at the physician who set Philippe's broken leg so badly the youngster was left with a permanent limp. The argument ended with the physician watching his guts being tossed into a nearby rose bush. On hindsight, most of Rafael's skills involved keeping people alive during torture rather than actually healing them.<p>

Gabriel blamed himself for the accident. He had been careless in obtaining a feisty stallion instead of a more manageable horse. The large man killed the horse that tossed the boy, possibly with his bare hands. They had horse meat stew and later horse ham for the next two weeks, until they were all sick of the stuff. Michel blamed the cardinal for his haste. Mazarin had wanted Philippe to learn riding because Louis was an avid and skilled horseman. Philippe was always so eager to please the cardinal. He had been terrified of the beast but he still got into that saddle. He should have told Mazarin 'no' and taken Philippe home.

Wolves take care of their pups. His family's crest had sported a wolf and its pup. Michel had forgotten the motto but the image of the adult wolf standing guard over a sleeping pup was still etched in his mind. Mazarin had not been too happy when he found out Rafael taught Philippe to read and write. He was not pleased when Gabriel took him out to the Carnival. No, he wanted Philippe to be shut up in the house and the three knew it had to do with his uncanny likeness to the French king. They were not to discuss anything to do with the French royal court in Philippe's earshot.

"_Do you think His Majesty Louis XIV would suffer his lookalike to live so freely?"_ Mazarin had said. _"They say Turkish princes have their brothers strangled on ascending the throne. More likely it will be the deepest dungeons of the Bastille for Philippe… His only crime is to share the same likeness as His Majesty." _

"Be brave, little pup…" Michel patted Philippe's shoulder. Once the cardinal's plan succeeds, Philippe would not need to hide like a mouse in a hole. He would be able to enjoy a walk in the open like any boy his age could, and they would be there to protect him. "I'm going out now. Is there anything I can get for you?" Michel asked as he tossed on his cloak.

"Monsieur Michel, I would like a new book please… I have finished reading the _Book of Saints_ Monsieur Rafael give me for Christmas…" Michel shuddered at the request. Books were hard to come by, especially those which did not run historical accounts of the deeds of the French royals past. Perhaps a folio of plays from the theatre would be more easy to come by. They were running some comedies which did not include any nobles or royalty in their character cast.

**Author's Notes:**

Aramis has some dark little secret with regards to a certain fling. Athos would probably kill him for this one if he knew. Or maybe just beat him up.

I believe you are seeing the parallels between the Inseparables and the Cardinal's Archangels, Rafael, Michel and Gabriel. The names are taken from the 3 archangels in church tradition – Michael, Raphael and Gabriel. Philippe's use of the word 'Father' is in reference to the cardinal's status as a priest. Perhaps abbe would be more suitable but I prefer using 'abbe' for Aramis. Wolves do make excellent parents and siblings to the pups.

Is this story moving too slowly? I'll try to arrange an encounter between Toni, the former musketeers and the Archangels soon.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer – 3 Musketeers and the characters belong to Alexander Dumas pere.

I am taking some creative liberties with the novels and actual history, as the 2011 movie did. This story is definitely AU. On with the story.

**Chapter 7**

"Oliver!" Athos winced at that ringing voice. It was Gerard de Dumont, now Comte de Dumont. Gerard reminded him of Buckingham in that he was always impeccably dressed but there was always something greasy about him. He lasted for a few years at Louis XIV's court, ostentatiously as the Admiral of the Royal Airships, until a fire on board the royal flagship resulted in his dismissal and exile. It was only recently that His Majesty deigned to allow the count to return to France. Whispers had it that Cardinal Mazarin had a hand in that. Oddly, Louis XIV had appointed Gerard's cousin as captain of the King's Guards. Athos thought that choice was a sadly misinformed one.

He looked up bleary-eyed. Gerard laughed and thumped him on the back. "Lovely day isn't it? Care to join me for lunch?" Their estates happened to border each other and he was a constant visitor to Athos' place in his youth as their fathers were good friends. Athos liked the old Count de Dumont, but Gerard was another matter. Gerard was apparently still under the misguided notion that Athos was his good friend.

Before Athos could protest, Gerard had already ordered a whole goose and trimmings from the cook of the _Dauphin_. He then proceeded to gobble his meal as he continued his one-sided conversation. Athos gritted his teeth as Gerard went on about the talents of various courtesans, his luck at dice and other innate gossip. Athos silently swore that if that pompous jackass did not stop his chatter-

"Say, Athos…" Gerard suddenly dropped his voice to a whisper. "Something big is going to happen at court… thought you might like to join us…"

"What might that be? Another one of His Majesty's hunting parties or a new theatre for his mother in Versailles? I do not hunt and I do not like the theatre…"

"Well, my cousin Francois has been approached by the Regent himself… Many of the nobles are in on it… The cardinal is going to do something big for France, reform His Majesty… You know how scandalous His Majesty's behaviour is recently now his sainted mother is too ill to rein him in. Cardinal Mazarin knows best I guess. The Duc d'Orleans, the Marquis du Berry…"

Athos shook his head. He detested court politics. His fellow noble was suggesting some sort of intrigue, which he wanted no part of. He excused himself from the table, pleading a stomach-ache. Hopefully Gerard would tire of waiting and leave the inn.

* * *

><p>Toni was waiting outside <em>The Three Guardsmen<em> for her student but Raoul was nowhere in sight. They had sent Raoul back to the inn in Porthos' clothes. The poor man was almost swimming in his godfather's too-large garments. When Toni finally calmed down and called at the inn, Raoul had vacated his room. His roommates claimed a private emergency. Marie and her son Henri were also at the inn, waiting for Monsieur de Treville. De Treville had made an arrangement to meet with his lawyer in a private room in the inn. His niece and her son had no place listening in and were consigned to a bench outside the building.

Porthos was playing with young Henri. He carried the laughing child on his broad shoulders and strolled up and down before Toni and Marie.

"Madame Boulton, why are the King's Guards or Cardinal Mazarin against Monsieur de Treville opening a fencing school?" Porthos asked.

"Please, call me Marie. Madame Boulton sounds… so formal…" Marie smiled as the large man returned Henri to his mother. "My uncle is a good man. Other than teaching his students fencing, he also teaches them how to conduct themselves… He believes a good swordsman is more than just being handy with a blade. His Majesty visited Paris two years ago and was fairly impressed by what he saw of my uncle's school. There was talk of reinstating the King's Musketeers and Uncle as captain. That was when the problems started… His Majesty has probably forgotten about Uncle by now."

"Pity that. Toni would have made a fine musketeer like his father. At least he would be teaching my godson Raoul to fence. So how do you find your student, Toni?" Porthos guffawed and slapped Toni on the shoulder, almost knocking her off the bench.

"He is a snivelling, whining… pup!" Toni complained. Marie looked intently at Toni and spoke in a low whisper. "Ah, but he is a handsome young man…"

Toni felt the colour rise to her cheeks. Henri giggled and clapped his hands at a stray cat. Porthos turned to see what the boy was amused by, allowing Marie a chance to lean closer to Toni.

"Mademoiselle, keep those feelings of yours in check if you're going to wear breeches."

Toni blanched at Marie's words. Marie kept her face expressionless. "H-how…" Toni bit her words back as Porthos glanced in their direction.

"Porthos, would you be so kind as to get us some cider. Poor Henri must be so thirsty…" Marie smiled at the large man. "Sure, Madame Bl-, Marie," Porthos disappeared into the building. Henri trotted off to play with the cat.

"Normally, when a man slaps another man, he does it with a gauntlet. The market was talking about what happened this morning. Don't worry, Toni. You have your reasons for wearing breeches and I'm not ratting on you. Tough enough for a woman to get about these days. But you are living in the same house as three men, if you count Planchet. You have your reputation to consider. I would not worry about Porthos. He is a nice man, even if he isn't too bright. My uncle put me in charge of the hostels. Now there are no students we have plenty of rooms…" Marie let her offer trail off as Porthos returned with the cider-jug.

* * *

><p>A few streets away, Michel hummed as he strolled along. A certain clerk would not be talking to anyone. Rafael's poison would see to it. He had emptied the vial into the wine jug he shared with the hapless man. Michel trusted Rafael had provided him with the correct antidote. Taken within a half-hour of the poison, it would neutralise the toxic effects. An hour without the antidote and you were a dead man. The antidote left a bitter aftertaste even though the poison itself gave a slight woody flavour to the wine. Michel had been violently sick after taking the antidote but he soon recovered.<p>

It would not be out of character for Rafael to try poisoning his housemates. Back in their early days, Gabriel had taken ill on several occasions after dining with the assassin. Michel had always been suspicious of any meal offered by Rafael and still was, unless Philippe was joining them for the meal. Michel recalled that he still owed their pup a book. If he broke his promise, Rafael would definitely poison him, both slowly and painfully, for upsetting Philippe, if Gabriel did not break his back over his knee like a dry stick first…

Pulling his cloak close around him, Michel loped in the direction of the theatre…

* * *

><p>In addition to cider, Porthos had ordered a lunch of rye bread, goat-cheese and capon. The large man was entertaining them with tales of his days as a musketeer.<p>

"And your father came charging to the rescue on that old mare of his. Those Spanish bast- Toni? Where're you off to?"

Toni had leapt up so violently that the plate of cheese and capon she had on her lap was dumped into the dust. She ran across the street with her hand on her sword-hilt. The wolf-eyed man, she had spotted him across the street but she lost him in the milling crowd exiting the cathedral after the noon service. She ran into someone.

"Toni, what's the hurry?" It was Aramis.

"The wolf-eyed man, the one who was after my father. I saw him," Toni blurted out. A huffing and puffing Porthos had caught up with her.

"Where?" Two former musketeers asked as one.

"I've lost him. But I saw him. I'm sure. He's in Paris…" Toni replied.

* * *

><p><em>Old Roland sat tied to the chair in that filthy cellar reeking of stale blood and burnt flesh. Dead eyes glared accusingly at him. The man had been tortured for information until his old heart gave out. A clatter sounded from above them. They hastened out of the cellar. Johan was sitting on the floor, in pain and clutching his side. "They went there…" he pointed at the open door with a bloodied hand. They hastened to the alley. <em>

"_Bertie, No!" D'Artagnan shouted. The young man sprinted past him. D'Artagnan could only watch helpless as the youth was suddenly jerked upright as the nearly invisible wire stretched across the narrow alley bit into his throat._ _The Breton was done for. His hands clawed frantically at his throat as he gurgled on his own blood, which spurted out of the ghastly wound which opened like a second mouth. D'Artagnan caught his comrade and tried to staunch the flow. _

"_Sir! We must go!" Roquet shouted from behind him. A heartbeat later, another crossbow bolt felled the large Norman. D'Artagnan spun around but there was no sign of their attackers. Johan was leaning against the doorframe. Somehow, D'Artagnan sensed something was amiss. _

"_Over there…" the clerk smiled eerily and pointed at the far wall of the alley. D'Artagnan gasped. Porthos, Aramis and Athos were sprawled there, dead. Standing over their lifeless bodies were the Cardinal's assassins. A woman's voice screamed. Toni. _

"Johan, no! Not here…" a feminine voice giggled outside his hiding place. D'Artagnan groaned and rubbed sleep from his eyes. He must have dozed off in the stables after arriving in Paris in the wee hours of the morning. The nightmares were different each time, but the addition of his old friends to the dream was new. It filled him with a sense of foreboding.

_Ah, the traitor was here. Just as well…_ Johan had not been around when Roland, Bertie and Roquet were killed. Yet only he and D'Artagnan knew where old Roland had gone into hiding. The old man was under their protection and they failed him. They were all meant to die in that alley. Thinking of his murdered colleagues, D'Artaganan stepped out of the stall he had been dozing in and hit Johan in the jaw. The serving wench shrieked at his sudden appearance and fled.

"Because of you, three good men are dead!" D'Artagnan spat at the hapless clerk. The man rubbed his jaw. "Dead you say?" He sounded genuinely surprised. "But how…" He clammed up suddenly. "I don't know what you are talking about…" Fear was etched on the clerk's face. He made to leave but D'Artagnan blocked his way. Johan was sweating too much and looking a sickly shade of green.

"Who have you been passing information to?" D'Artagnan demanded. "Cardinal Mazarin? Or his lackeys?" It was unusual for a court clerk like Johan to abandon his post at the palace in Versailles. He must be meeting with someone. _But who? _

Johan opened his mouth to speak. Instead, blood bubbled from his lips. He slumped forward onto D'Artagnan, staining his shirt with blood. With a final convulsion, he was gone. _Poisoned!_ D'Artagnan cautiously lowered the body onto the ground. The assassins had struck again. He stepped out of the stables and bumped into a young stable-hand. The lad started at the copious amount of blood on D'Artagnan's shirt and at the body lying in the stables.

"Help! Murder!" the lad raised the alarm and ran. D'Artagnan cursed under his breath. He did not want to be embroiled in any murder accusations, not in Paris where Mazarin's power was the strongest. He had to flee. He sprinted down an alley at the sound of approaching men. He ran past a dark doorway. A dark arm reached out from the shadows and yanked him within the shadows.

"Master D'Artagnan, hush," Mama Rosa the gypsy greeted him with a grin. His pursuers ran past the doorway as D'Artagnan and Mama Rosa waited. It was only after the men had long gone that they spoke.

"Rosa, is Toni in Paris? What is she doing here?" he demanded. Rosa slapped him before replying.

"You haven't gotten in touch with her, have you? She thinks you dead. Three months without a word…"

"Rosa, I work for the court and I can't…" His words were silenced by another slap courtesy of Rosa.

"You have one good eye but you still don't see. She needs you. Your daughter needs to know you are safe... If you want to know, she was coming to Paris dressed as a man to find work as a fencing teacher to get out of some marriage with an aged nobleman."

**Author's Notes: **

Poor Athos, the reluctant count… Having to deal with Comte du Dumont is definitely painful. Gerard really talks too much. Maybe he would be the next one to be silenced by the Archangels?

Someone has figured out Toni's disguise and Toni sees one of the Archangels. D'Artagnan really needs to have some sense slapped into him by Mama Rosa over his not informing Toni he's alive.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer – 3 Musketeers and the characters belong to Alexander Dumas pere.

I'm working on showing another aspect of Raoul here, one which will probably make him more than the weakling his father thinks he is.

**Chapter 8**

Mama Rosa had given him a well-deserved piece of her mind. Feeling very much chastised, D'Artagnan went over to the _Three Guardsmen_. The gypsy woman had parted company with him as she needed to return to her family outside the city walls. Mama Rosa had taken a look at his injured eye and shook her head. It was unlikely he would recover sight in that eye. He had stopped by his rooms to change out of his bloodied shirt before going to the inn. There was no sense alarming the innkeeper. The innkeeper informed him that there was no young woman with blond hair staying at the inn. In fact, apart from a motley crew of actors and a family visiting from the duchy of Lorraine, there were no other guests. Cher Ami was not in the inn's stables. Antoinette could have returned to Gascony. Or she could be staying in another inn.

There was nothing he could do but return to his rooms and pray his daughter was safe. Paris was no place for a young lady to go about unprotected, especially a country girl like his Toni. He had been awfully naïve when he first came to Paris and it was only through sheer luck he met his friends, Athos, Porthos and Aramis. He wondered if he should seek their help in this matter but the terrible nightmare he had the night before haunted him. No, it was not right for him to intrude on the peaceful lives the trio had eked out for themselves. It was as if a huge gulf had opened up between them.

* * *

><p>Given the agitated state Toni was in, it took a while for Aramis and Porthos to calm her. Their canvassing of the vicinity turned up no sign of D'Artagnan's assailant. It was with much reluctance that Toni agreed to return to Porthos' home. Raoul's absence from his scheduled fencing lesson was another matter, one for which Athos would take him to task for once he learns of it. Porthos decided that there was no sense bringing down Athos' wrath on his godson's head just yet.<p>

"Come on, Toni… let's take your mind off the scoundrel for a bit. How about a visit to the theatre? I've tickets… Too many, in fact… We can invite Marie and the others as well, eh? Aramis?" Porthos turned to his friend. Raoul had been very generous. They could invite Athos, Marie and de Treville if they wanted. Young Henri could get in free. The play was ribald and full of lewd innuendo. "Aramis? Do you think Marie will come if I asked her? Aramis? Aramis!"

"Eh?" Aramis looked around distractedly. It was clear his mind was a hundred miles away. Porthos elbowed him.

"So, which lady did you grace with your presence this morning?"

"None. I went to church for confession…"

"Aramis? Are you ill?" Porthos clapped his meaty hand over Aramis' brow. "You didn't drop by any ladies' place but went to church? Have you actually sworn off women in favour of your holy vows?"

"I thought he was a priest," Toni blinked in bewilderment. "Aren't they all celibate?"

"Toni, Toni… you don't know," Porthos was guffawing now. "Our abbe here, he is a real ladies' man. No woman was safe from his charms…" Aramis turned ashen at his friend's words. They had reached Porthos' lodgings. Toni hurried over to the stables to check on her pony. Cher Ami got fretful if he did not get a daily trot.

"Porthos- Athos' son, Raoul… How old is he?" Aramis asked, his heart dreaded the reply he would receive.

"Why, the lad is twenty-one in June…"

"_Mea culpa, mea culpa…"_ the stricken abbe muttered under his breath. His world had crashed down around him. _Could Josephine have come away from their fling with his child? _

"How about a visit to Madame Esmee's house after the play, Aramis?" a clueless Porthos asked. "We could introduce Toni to some nice ladies…" Aramis shook his head and all but fled for his room. Porthos shrugged. Perhaps Aramis had indeed decided to take his vows seriously after that thrashing he received at the convent, but it seemed too unlike the man. Porthos' thoughts were interrupted by Planchet returning to the room with a jug of wine and a large wheel of cheese. Humming happily, Porthos decided to get some sustenance into his belly before seeking out Athos. Plays weren't all that bad and Athos acknowledged that, he might not insist on forcing Raoul into the army.

* * *

><p>A few hours later, they were at the theatre, waiting for the play <em>The Merry Widow of Marseilles<em> to start. They had taken their seats on a front-row bench. Porthos was seated in the centre, between Athos and Aramis. Monsieur de Treville had accepted Porthos' invitation and was sitting beside Aramis. Marie had declined the offer, much to Porthos' disappointment. Toni took the corner of the bench beside Athos. Athos was in a foul mood and it was only at Porthos' dogged insistence that he was there. The half-empty wine bottle he toted was troubling. The theatre was crowded with people from all walks of Parisian life. The balcony seats had been given to the well-heeled nobles and wealthy merchantmen. The poorer members of the audience simply stood at the back.

The curtains rose and the play started with a brief but humorous narration of the quarrel between two families and the star-crossed love between their offspring. Athos noticed to his great dismay, his annoying fellow noble du Dumont waving at him from the balcony seat and took a swig of his wine. Then the title character of the play made her grand appearance, or rather, his appearance. In a flurry of scarlet petticoats, the Merry Widow burst onto the stage.

Porthos gasped. Toni gaped. Athos clutched the wine bottle so tightly his knuckles went white. Porthos prayed they had been mistaken. However, his prayers came to naught when the Widow opened her mouth and delivered her lines in Raoul's voice.

* * *

><p><em>Hours earlier at the Three Guardsmen…<em>

"Disaster! Amalia did it like she threatened," Jacques was in a fine panic. "We're doomed…"

"Did what?" Raoul scowled. The fiery relationship between their leading actress and Jacques was full of drama, enough to rival any play he could write.

"Jumped off the bridge, like she threatened to do unless Monsieur Jacques quit playing court to Mademoiselle Mariette of the pie shop," Pierre replied. "Don't worry, she'd live. The bridge was low enough and so was the river thereabouts but she wrenched her ankle something wicked. Raoul, we need someone to play the Widow in tonight's show… or the crowd will tear us to pieces! It's close to a full house…"

"Isn't there anyone else who can play this part?" Raoul asked his roommates. The role in question was the title character of the play_ The_ _Merry Widow of Marseilles_. To his dismay, Pierre shook his head.

"Sorry, I've asked all the actresses. Louisa is too raw for such a large part. Can't memorize all the lines in time. Nicolette is expecting and due anytime soon. The main problem is the lines. We need someone who is familiar with the role or can memorize all of them… Vicomte, I know this is hard but we need your help."

"Pass me that script…" Raoul said quietly. "And we'll need to alter the Widow's costume, Amalia is much smaller… Meet you at the theatre…" There was only one way to save the play and it was up to him…

* * *

><p>"Hey, Olivier! Isn't that your son?" Gerard's damning voice boomed. Seemingly oblivious, Raoul continued hamming it up as the Widow with a bawdry dance and song which caused the audience to roar with laughter. Athos swore and flung his wine bottle at the stage, much to the horror of his companions. The bottle shattered on one of the wooden posts holding up the upper level of the stage, sending glass fragments flying into the hapless actors.<p>

An actress shrieked in alarm and shielded her face with her fan. A boy-actor dived for cover behind a prop. Another actor yelled curses at Athos before his fellows dragged him backstage to avert a fistfight. The Widow continued delivering his lines despite the glass fragments landing on him. His wig had been knocked askew. The white sleeve of his costume was dripping with the spilled wine or possibly blood. Porthos cursed aloud. The bottle had been aimed at Raoul and would have floored him had he not moved aside in time. "Athos! Have you lost your mind?"

"You could've killed him! What're you doing?" de Treville snapped.

"Leaving! And I have no son!" Athos shoved his way past Toni, through the stunned audience and stormed out the main door. "Oh my, he could be injured," Aramis murmured. He looked as if he were going to rush onstage to Raoul's aid but he was blocked by Porthos on one side and de Treville on the other. The Widow flounced backstage. Toni leapt nimbly onto the stage and hastened behind the curtains. Belatedly, Porthos chose to go after the fuming Athos.

"Athos!" Porthos yelled after his friend. The comte ignored him. Porthos shrugged and turned to return to the theatre, almost bowling over a scrawny street urchin. The imp picked himself up and ran off. The giant then realised his purse was gone.

"Stop! Thief!" Porthos ran after the little pickpocket as fast as his bulk would allow.

* * *

><p>Raoul was being attended to by his fellow actors. The gash was deep and looked bad. His friends had extracted a large glass shard from the wound. The bravado he displayed as the Widow had melted away. He looked faint. His arm had been badly gashed and his friends were tying a bandage around it to staunch the bleeding. The young man kept staring at the rafters, as if he would faint if he saw his own blood. "T-tie it tighter, Pierre…"he instructed through gritted teeth.<p>

"Raoul… You're hurt…" Toni tried to speak calmly. "You can't possibly go back on stage…"

"Have to. S-show must go on. Guy, help me with the wig…" Raoul said quietly. This was a different Raoul from the pompous fop, rebellious son and clowning student Toni had seen so far.

"You're still bleeding like a pig…" an actress squeaked. "S-stop it…" Raoul demanded.

"Cauterize it," Toni said quietly. "It'd hurt like the devil, but it'll stop the bleeding…"

"Do it," the patient replied. "H-hurry, I'm needed on stage in the next act. Pierre! That's your cue for the Bridegroom. Go!" The actor apologized and hurried out before the curtain. The play was still in progress despite the earlier disturbance.

"Raoul, it'll hurt…" Toni warned.

"Damn it! I can take pain… it's just the sight of blood I can't abide! Quickly now," Raoul bit down on a cloth gag someone offered him and looked away as the bandages were torn off his arm. Someone had stuck a poker into a brazier and the metal was now red-hot. Instinctively, Toni grabbed hold of the patient's shoulder and arm so that he would not move during the process. The patient yelled into his gag and shuddered amidst the smell of seared flesh.

Aramis had managed make his way backstage. The abbe blanched at the sound of that muffled yell. Raoul went limp for a moment, gasping. Toni wiped the sheen of sweat off his brow with her sleeve. "How's he?" Aramis swallowed hard. That young man could be his own flesh and blood. There was a hint of his mother in the line of his jaw and that nose. "Bleeding's stopped…" Toni observed.

"Raoul, your cue," someone whispered. Raoul leapt to his feet shakily before Toni could stop him. He straightened the wig on his head and rolled down his sleeve over the still-raw wound, careful not to look at the bloodied sleeve. With a sweep of skirts, the Widow was back on stage delivering her ribald jokes.

* * *

><p><em>Versailles. <em>

Cardinal Mazarin scowled at the sight of his rival, Anne of Austria, enjoying the latest play her son had arranged for her in the new theatre at Versailles. Mother and son were almost inseparable. Her eyes were weak now and her son had to relate the action on stage to her as they watched. Louis had the cheek to find fault with the way he had handled the Spanish envoys. He had refused to sign the decrees for increasing the number of men to be assigned to the border with Naples. In fact, he had decreed that the budget to the King's Guards be cut. No doubt the funds would end up financing another theatre for his mother or furnishing a manor for some courtesan. Louis had dallied in many affairs despite his youth and was exceedingly generous to his lovers.

There was also Anne's watchdog to consider. D'Artagnan refused to be bribed or threatened into silence. He had to be removed, yet he had apparently escaped the Archangels. A spy on the Queen Regent's household staff informed him that His Majesty had flogged D'Artagnan the other day. How much did the Gascon know about his plans for Philippe? He needed to be dealt with. Several nobles had been bought over to his side. Most did not know the full extent of the plot. They would be more than willing to have a more compliant child-king they could manipuate. If they guessed regicide was involved, they would gladly turn him in to be executed for treason.

The cardinal's interest was not on the play. Captain Francois of the King's Guards was there tonight. Mazarin excused himself from the company of an ancient court lady and hastened over. They had less than a month before the celebrations commemorating His Majesty's reign. In a grand ceremony in Notre Dame, the regents would hand over the reins of power to Louis XIV, even though they might be retained as advisors. Anne might not be long for this world, but he was not taking any chances. She knew Louis too well as his mother. She would be able to see through the substitution. The queen regent would perish in an unfortunate event precipitated by Protestant dissenters but Louis would survive in a miracle. It would be Philippe who will be sitting on the throne as his twin while the real Louis disappears into a quiet grave.

Yes, he would cast Philippe as a pious king, claiming he had repented of all his vices after his miraculous deliverance. There was one glaring problem – Philippe's awkwardness about females. Almost all the households he had placed the boy with lacked companions close to his age. Up to his twelfth year, Philippe had been entrusted to a succession of caretakers who did little more than feed and clothe him. He got along remarkably well with the Archangels but as to females... There was a girl once. According to Rafael, the boy did nothing more than worship her from a distance, too shy to even speak to her. If he were Louis, he would have sired his bastard on her within the month. No, it would never do to have Philippe blushing and stammering like a schoolboy about the court ladies. He hoped that Gabriel and Rafael would carry out his orders to educate their young prince in that aspect of life.

Little did Mazarin know that the mission he had entrusted his Archangels with had backfired spectacularly...

* * *

><p><em>Paris. <em>

"You imbeciles!" Michel glared at his companions. Rafael nursed a bruised neck. Gabriel had a dagger wound in his shoulder, dangerously close to his jugular. The pair knelt, almost cowering under Michel's glare. Had he not walked in on them just then, the pair would have most likely killed each other. He flung the book he had purchased, _A Guide to Curious Beasts,_ onto the table. It had taken him the better part of the day to find it. The cardinal had returned in Michel's absence with further instructions regarding Philippe.

The pair of bunglers had taken Philippe to a house of assignation and the pup had bolted when confronted with some half-witted whore they set him up with. They believed the pup would find his way home, but how could he when he was hardly out of the house? When he failed to return after a few hours, the pair turned on each other like dogs. The pup was probably wandering the streets lost and terrified. If anything befall the pup, the cardinal would have them imprisoned and killed but Michel was more concerned about Philippe.

"I told you we should have paid more for the prettier one…" Rafael glared at Gabriel.

"At least she still had her teeth and hair…" the larger man retorted. "We should have just grabbed a pretty one off the street…" Michel kicked him in the rear.

"Enough! We have to find him!" Still cursing his companions' stupidity and Mazarin, Michel threw on his cloak. As de facto leader, he must take charge.

**Author's Notes:**

Things are definitely not going according to plan for everyone, even the cardinal.

I let Raoul's phobia be more specific. He just could not bear the sight of blood but he would put up with pain and humiliation if it meant the play could go on. Athos is really, really angry at his son for acting on stage and in a dress, to boot. That would really send his blood pressure through the roof, especially when Gerard announced it out loud. Aramis thinks Raoul might just be his son and that he has cuckolded his good friend.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer – 3 Musketeers and the characters belong to Alexander Dumas pere.

**Chapter 9**

Porthos wheezed and gasped. His lungs screamed for air. He had lost his purse and the thief was long gone by now. _Or was he?_ There was a slight form huddled in a shadowed doorway. Perhaps it was the thief. Rage took hold of him. No urchin was making a monkey of him. "Come out here!" Porthos growled and seized hold of the hapless boy, dragging him out into the open. However, the large man soon realised he was mistaken. The youth was taller than the little cutpurse. The youth wrenched his arm free and fled, limping heavily. He was gone before Porthos could apologize for his behaviour.

"Porthos, you are an imbecile," Porthos gasped and felt disgusted with his actions. _Bullying a crippled beggar indeed, some behaviour from a former musketeer._

* * *

><p><em>In another part of Paris… <em>

"Any sign of him?"

"No."

"Keep searching!" Michel barked. Rafael and Gabriel ran off into the dark night. It was a futile attempt and they knew it. The boy was far too innocent to wander the rough streets of Paris. Michel had found Philippe's forgotten crutch in the brothel's parlour. Now he held it in his hands, ready to be returned to its master. He had made it himself, constantly replacing the crutch to keep pace with Philippe's growth. He cursed his companions. If they had had not been busy indulging their own appetites with the fat whores…

He calmed himself. Philippe would be upset if they fell out with each other. The boy was far too sensitive. Some primal instinct warned him of unseen eyes. He glanced up at the window of an abandoned building. There was nothing to be seen. He shrugged and continued into the night.

D'Artagnan had ducked back into the shadows mere seconds before Michel looked up. It was by chance that he had glanced out of the window at the commotion from the street below. He had only returned to his hiding place after a futile search of his own for Toni. He had been hoping they would lead him to the prince. If the Cardinal's personal henchmen were searching for Philippe, where could the young prince be? Where could his daughter be?

* * *

><p>Philippe was nearly in tears as he turned about the alleyways. They all looked the same to him. He had been wandering the alleys without food or drink since he fled from that scary woman. She was nice to him at first but then she started touching him and taking off her clothes. In his panic and confusion he had climbed out of the window and fled into the alley behind. Some boys had surrounded him and beaten him up. They also took away his purse, boots and that nice vest Gabriel gave him at Christmas. He had huddled in a doorway hoping his friends would find him, until that scary giant dragged him out of hiding. Now he was limping about the rough cobblestones with his feet cut and bleeding… <em>Was that a light?<em> He tried the door. It yielded to his touch.

* * *

><p>"I don't get it. How come you are so afraid of the sight of blood?" Toni chided gently as she inspected the wound on Raoul's arm. The cauterizing they carried out earlier was a slipshod job and the wound had re-opened during the last scene of the play. The play had ended. Aramis had offered to accompany Monsieur de Treville back to his home after being reassured that Raoul's injury was not serious. The night-time streets of the city were no place for an old man to risk alone, especially one unable to hold his sword. Toni decided to wait for Porthos to return at the theatre and tend to Raoul's wound. A doctor had been sent for.<p>

Raoul hissed with pain as Toni peeled back a strip of bandage stuck to his wound. "Why should I tell you?"

"Your father charged me with teaching you to fence. As your teacher, I must say that your phobia of blood is not something that cuts you out for a swordsman." The confines of backstage meant she was so deliciously close to Raoul. The other troupe members were busy putting away the props and costumes. Raoul had been stripped of his costume and wig and sat clad only in his breeches. It was uncomfortably warm from the brazier and a sheen of sweat glistened on his skin. He was not as muscular as the farmhands who worked on her father's farm but that did not make him any less manly in her eyes. Toni was conscious of how her heart was thumping. No, she must concentrate on her role as his fencing teacher.

"When I was very young, I wandered into the kitchen and fell into a barrel of blood. The servants had slaughtered some pigs and were keeping the blood for black pudding. I almost drowned in the stuff. Couldn't abide the sight of blood since," Raoul said with a shudder. "Of course, things did not improve when that man decided to cure my fear by dragging me to the local slaughterhouse."

"You mean your father?"

"That man, the comte…" Raoul nodded wearily. "I wish he were not." He felt oddly at ease in Toni's presence. It was as if he had known the young man all his life despite having met only two days since. The quarrel of the morning had long been forgotten. "As far back as I can recall, he and my mother have always been quarrelling and fighting. One would wonder why they got married in the first place or if they ever loved each other… I like to write plays, a make-believe world for people to enjoy, even for a few hours."

"Yes, you were wonderful as the Widow. The audience enjoyed it…" Toni smiled. Her parents loved each other tremendously, so Mama Rosa told her, She was far too young when her mother died to have any clear memories of her, but her father always had that look of pure love in his eyes when he spoke of her late mother. It must be awful to have one's parents constantly quarrelling.

"The play was not one of mine. I have written a few but they are not quite ready to be put up. One day, I will have my plays performed at Versailles before His Majesty…" A clatter from the front of the curtain drew their attention.

"What's that?" the pair turned towards the curtain. The theatre should be shut up now. The actors were in the dressing room enjoying a late supper. Was it Jacques returning with the doctor? Surely he would know to use the back door…

Raoul pulled aside the curtain. Someone had knocked over metal tubs by the stage. A dirty, bedraggled youth was cowering by the tubs. His bare feet were cut and bleeding.

"I'm sorry! Please… don't hurt me."

"Raoul, help me here…" Toni hastened forward to reassure the newcomer. There was a dull thud behind her. Raoul had seen the bloody footprints leading from the theatre's side door and fainted. Jacques' voice called out from the back door at that moment.

"I've brought the doctor! Where's the patient?"

* * *

><p><em>Versailles. The queen mother's chambers. <em>

"We're so glad you enjoyed the play, mother," Louis XIV gently re-arranged the rugs on Anne's lap as she sat in her armchair. "Shall we leave you to rest now?" The fire was burning brightly and the room should be comfortably warm in no time.

Anne's hand reached out and gripped his wrist. "Stay, please."

"Do you wish us to read to you?"

"We must talk, about His Majesty's actions today…" Louis made a face at his mother's words. Still, he lowered himself into the chair beside hers. "His Majesty refused to meet with Duke Leopold to discuss the treaty of the Netherlands. The lands of the Marquise le Roche were not conferred on her surviving granddaughter. The Spanish ambassador was turned away when he came with the marriage proposal from the King of Spain… And your little act with the daughter of that Alsatian noble… Louis, did you have to caress her so openly before the entire court? The corridors are all awash with news of your latest mistress. That young lady is the betrothed of your own captain of the King's Guards."

Louis could not help but chuckle softly. The look on the nobles' faces was priceless when he kissed the young woman during their dance. Odette was full or protests at first, but she finally yielded. She was no doubt waiting patiently for him in his bedchamber now. He was looking forward to more of what he had enjoyed earlier in the evening.

"Louis, please. His Majesty must always conduct himself with dignity and put the interests of France first. His Majesty is young and would do well to listen to advice… Duke Leopold is well-schooled in the Netherlands situation and can offer you sound advice. A match with the Spanish princess would be beneficial to both kingdoms but must be carefully negotiated. The King of Spain is one quick to take offence. The lands of Marquise le Roche are still in limbo despite her passing two years ago. Her granddaughter has petitioned the court for…"

"Mama, you mustn't worry yourself with such matters… That woman can throw herself on the charity of a convent for all we care. I am France. I will decide what is best." Louis patted his mother's hand to reassure her that he was not angry with her. Soon he would be taking hold of the reins for himself and not be obliged to listen to her or Mazarin. Perhaps she was upset about that.

"Louis, there is also your treatment of my loyal servant, D'Artagnan. And your long-lost brother…"

"That knave is a liar and my brother is dead. You told me so yourself," Louis snapped impatiently. Still, he did leave his seat.

"What if Philippe still lives?" Carefully, Anne related D'Artagnan's discovery of the plot to her son. Louis shook his head when it was done.

"That is foolish talk, mama. Mazarin would not dare raise a hand against us. The knave is not only a liar, he is mad as a hatter to see shadows where none exist."

"But what if there is truth in this?" Anne pressed. "Would you be merciful to them? To your own brother? You shared a womb and a cradle. Promise me this, be merciful to your own twin."

"I promise, mother. I'll be merciful to him." Saying those empty words, Louis leaned in to kiss her forehead. It was too warm. He would ring for the maid. He was the only son Anne needed.

* * *

><p><em>Back at the theatre. <em>

"Doctor, how's he?" Toni asked. Raoul was still out cold and sprawled over two large clothes trunks set end to send. The young beggar, Philippe, was tucking ravenously into a meat pie and wrapped in a rug against the cold. It was a wonder he had not caught a chill yet. His face had been cleaned and he was oddly familiar even though Toni could not recall from where.

"Both are well. Monsieur Raoul's injury is not life-threatening even if he did lose a bit of blood. That might have brought about the fainting. I recommend unwatered wine and red meat for that. Take care of the wound and call me if there is any infection. As for young Philippe here, I've cleaned out his cuts and bandaged them. He'd need to rest for a bit. Nothing we can do about the limp, I'm afraid. Watch for infection in the boy's feet too," The doctor smiled. "Madame, you did a fine job with helping me clean out their wounds. If you ever decide to leave the stage, I know I can do with a helper…"

"But I am not…" Toni paused and nodded instead. "I'll consider it." She paid the doctor and showed him to the door. There was no need to explain her disguise and little chance their paths would cross.

She turned her attention to Philippe. There was something which did not add up. Under the mud and dirt, his skin was pasty pale. His hands were far softer than expected for someone living on the streets. His garments showed signs of care. Someone was caring for him and was probably looking for him now. His family must be informed.

"Philippe, do you have family?" A nod from the boy.

"Can you find your way home?" This time a shake.

"Could you tell us their name?" The boy looked straight back at her with an unnervingly trusting look.

"Their names are Michel, Rafael and Gabriel… Father calls them his Archangels… Could you please help me find them? They'll be so worried…"

_Great,_ Toni felt like slapping her own face. The boy must be some simpleton who was prone to seeing angels and stuff. Behind her, Raoul made a sound somewhere between a moan and a chuckle. He had a just awoken and caught the last bits of the conversation.

**Author's Notes: **

Philippe should be in good hands with Toni and Raoul.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer – 3 Musketeers and the characters belong to Alexander Dumas pere.

A matchmaking session for Athos.

**Chapter 10**

Michel gave a sigh of relief and motioned for the wizened morgue-keeper to lower the dirty rag back over the corpse's face. It was not Philippe. He had feared the worst on hearing that the body of a youth had been hauled out of the Seine by two fishermen that morning. Somewhere someone has lost a son or a brother, but it was not Philippe. Rafael and Gabriel were waiting outside. Their eyes were red from lack of sleep. Rafael had gone into those shady pleasure-houses catering to more perverse tastes and Gabriel had gone into the deepest alleys where the worst murderers and crooks loitered. Both were sporting evidence of run-ins with the denizens of the city's underworld in the form of bloodied blades and bloodstained clothes. Michel reflected that Paris was probably safer now thanks to the pair.

"It's not him," Michel announced and was amused to witness Rafael cross himself with relief. Michel made as if to launch himself on another exhausting search but Gabriel clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"Michel, you need to eat, and rest. You're dead on your feet." Their smaller companion nodded in agreement. The anxiety and worry weighed heavy on all of them. For a moment, Michel considered drawing his sword on the man for his insolence. Instead, he only nodded and allowed Rafael to lead him into a cookhouse and order them some food. Gabriel started regaling them with a very graphic description of how he repaid a two-bit assassin by gutting the man after he made some insult with regards to Philippe.

* * *

><p><em>The yard of the Three Guardsmen.<em>

"_All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players_," Raoul declared with a flourish to much applause from his fellow troupe members. The loudest clapping came from the crippled child perched on a wooden crate.

"That, Guy, is how you should say your lines," Raoul clapped the actor on his back.

Philippe had spent the night with them in the _Three Guardsmen_. It was a bit of a squeeze but the possibility of a reward from his family was enough to convince Jacques and the others not to kick him out. Guy had managed to prepare a few notices which they posted outside their theatre. Philippe's family would find him soon. The boy was likeable enough. He was amusingly awkward when the comely maidservant fussed over him through breakfast. Even better, Philippe was eager to help the troupe with the small tasks like cleaning the props and costumes.

"Will Toni be joining us?" Philippe asked timidly. "Will he find Michel and the others? I don't want them to get in trouble with Father…" Raoul pulled a face at the mention of his fencing master. Toni would be storming up to the inn soon. Raoul did not wish to tire himself with a fencing lesson. He needed his strength to play his role as the Widow. They had two more shows to go before _As You Like It _started its run. He had obtained the script in English and translated it the best he could. The rhythm of the verse was a bit off and he had to adapt some parts of it but the troupe was pleased enough with the result.

"If Toni D'Artagnan calls, say I'm out of town," Raoul instructed his actors before throwing on his cloak. Bon-Bon was off her hay yesterday and he was hoping a bit of exercise would fix that.

* * *

><p><em>The downstairs parlour of The Dauphin. <em>

Athos scowled at the cringing servant and the prospective bride the matchmaker had brought. "If I wanted to marry a horse, I'd start with my own stables!" he snarled and slammed his tankard on the table top. The matchmaker hastened to usher the young woman out before she could go into hysterics.

The matchmaking was a disaster. The first woman was far too old for childbearing and the second girl in an advanced stage of pregnancy. The third bride was gangly and had features which reminded him of a horse. Athos groaned when he spotted Porthos heading his way, having forced his way past a protesting servant. No doubt Raoul's godfather was going to talk him out of disowning the boy. This time, he was accompanied by Aramis and Toni. Raoul, unsurprisingly, had not put in an appearance.

"Good Lord, what was that all about?" Aramis declared when the rejected bride tore past them.

"I'm disowning Raoul and getting a new wife to produce a proper heir with," Athos replied.

"Athos, let's not be too hasty here. Your first marriage didn't work out because you and your wife never got along to start with. You can't just marry someone without even getting to know them first," Porthos raised his hands in a gesture of peace. "Raoul means no harm… He's your son after all…"

"He is a knave who swoons at the sight of blood and prances about in skirts like a clown before everyone in Paris!" Athos spat. Toni stepped back at the vehemence in the man's voice. She had wanted to say a good word or two for Raoul, but her courage withered in the face of Athos' seething rage at his son. That step into the shadows turned out to be for the best as the harried matchmaker returned with none other than Madame Pomeforte, her grandaunt. Athos choked on the mouthful of wine he had been about to swallow and spat it out, all over the poor woman's dress. Toni hurriedly secreted herself out of sight behind Porthos' bulk.

"I want a woman to bear me strong sons and you send me a grandmother!" The hapless matchmaker fled as Athos flung his tankard to the floor. To her credit, Madame Pomeforte did not flinch. Instead, she dabbed at the wine stain on her dress before giving it up as a lost cause. Then she fixed the prospective groom with a glare which could have made Medusa proud.

"Monsieur, you want a young strong wife to bear your sons and I have a young lady who needs a husband," Madame Pomeforte dove right in. "I assure you young Antoinette is as strong as a horse and of impeccable family and reputation."

"So where is the lady?" Athos questioned icily.

"She is a poor orphan whom I have sent to a convent during her time of mourning for her father, which will soon be at end… She has no dowry, but I trust her beauty will more than make up for it. Here's a portrait of my grand-niece." There was a rustling of paper. Toni shuddered as she recalled the young cousin who had persuaded her to sit for a sketch. No doubt the boy had been put up to it by his wily grandmother in anticipation of her refusal to accept the marriage arrangements.

"Athos! You've made one mistake with your first wife. You can't make the same mistake rushing into things like marriage!" It was Aramis who snatched the sketch from an indignant Madame Pomeforte and flung it out the open window where a gust of wind whisked it away. "Please, Athos. Marriage is more than just carrying on the family name. You've made a mistake marrying Josephine. Don't ruin another girl's life…"

"Aramis, if I want an abbe to lecture me on matrimony, I'd ask for it. And how the hell did you know that woman's name?" Athos hissed.

"I told him," Porthos replied. "Besides, he has a point. All she has to show of the bride is a portrait and you know artists always take liberties. Come on, Athos. The only thing you and your wife agreed on is making life intolerable for each other from the moment you were wed. Are you going to risk that again?" It was not often that Porthos provided his insight and Athos had to admit that his friend's words made sense.

"Madame, I'd be delighted to meet Mademoiselle Antoinette in person," Athos returned his attention to Madame Pomeforte. The woman fawningly bobbed a curtsy. Toni made full use of the distraction to flee out of the parlour.

"Of course, my lord. However, Antoinette is unwell…"

"But you said she is in good health."

"No, she is as strong as an ox…" Madame Pomeforte sounded flustered now. She had sent her sons out to track down her runaway grandniece and the men had informed her that they were close to cornering her about the Spanish border. The discovery of the shorn tresses in her room and the missing pony suggested the wilful girl had taken to the road dressed as a boy. There were rumours of a blond stranger staying with a family of horse traders on the border.

"Perhaps the lady has run off with gypsies or is she busy having a baby? For her guardian, you seem to be doing a terrible job of safeguarding your ward's honour," Athos remarked acidly. He was not amused by the woman's attempts to dissuade him. "Look, I'd like to see the lady for myself before we reach an agreement. Do inform me when the mademoiselle is feeling better." He waved the fuming woman out the door.

"He's going to make the same mistake all over again…" Porthos shrugged. Aramis opened his mouth but thought the better of it and kept silent. Athos would not like to know how much of a cad he was in his treatment of the late Josephine. And Raoul did not need to be disowned by Athos. If Raoul was indeed his son, Aramis swore not to breathe a word of it to the boy or Athos.

"Aramis, you're hiding something from me," Porthos caught Aramis' wrist and dropped his voice to a whisper. "Whatever it is, it's eating you up inside."

Athos was preoccupied with his wine again. Porthos all but dragged Aramis out and into the stables.

* * *

><p>"Aramis, you haven't been eating proper and you've been dressing shabbily. You didn't even try flirting with that saucy wench who bumped into you on the way in. This is not like you. Forgive me, but I think this has something to do with Athos' wife…" Porthos was more serious than he had ever been in all the years they had known each other.<p>

"It has nothing to do with Athos' wife! I'm just feeling a bit under the weather," Aramis lied through his teeth. The giant shrugged. "Suit yourself, Aramis. But if you need to talk you know where to look."

* * *

><p>Raoul was riding down the main thoroughfare when a gust of wind blew a piece of paper into his face. Cursing, he pulled it from his face and was immediately struck by the maiden smiling back at him from the paper. He was certain her hair would be pale, most likely blond. There was something almost coquettish about her demurely downcast eyes. Raoul knew he had fallen in love and sighed. <em>It was madness,<em> he admitted as he carefully folded the sketch and slipped it into his vest, over his heart. She could simply be a figment of someone's imagination.

All thought of romance was banished from his mind when he spotted his fencing master hurrying out of an inn.

"Raoul!" Toni glanced up and gasped in a mix of surprise and pleasure. He was looking well and apart from the bulge of a bandage under his fashionably tight sleeve, there was no sign of any pain or discomfort on his face.

"I-I was just going to the inn for your fencing lessons…" Toni stuttered. Bon-Bon neighed warmly when Toni patted her nose. Toni reflected that she should really take Cher Ami out for a good trot in the countryside. Strolling through Parisian streets was not enough for her feisty pony.

"I need to prepare for my role as the Widow for the next two shows. And I am injured after all," Raoul said.

"You are excused then," Toni murmured in disappointment. "How's Philippe?" She hastily changed the topic when she noticed his eyes on her.

"Well, he is recovering well and we hope to return him to his family soon…" Raoul replied. There was a hint of a resemblance to the sketch but surely he must be mistaken. Toni was all fire and annoyance. "Pray tell, Monsieur D'Artagnan, do you have a sister?" Toni shook her head.

"Why do you ask?" her breath caught. _Had her disguise been blown?_

"Because methinks your sister, if she takes after you in looks, would make a perfect fair lady for my play," Raoul said before he nudged Bon-Bon onwards, leaving a puzzled Toni behind.

* * *

><p>"Madame Pomeforte? What are you doing in Paris? And where's my Toni?" D'Artagnan was surprised and shocked to find his aunt walking down the street in his direction. She was fuming and muttering under her breath. She looked up at his voice and recognized him. Upon which, she promptly bestowed a slap on him.<p>

"Georges! You're alive! That's for failing to discipline your brat! You can take your little ingrate of a daughter back if we find her! Oooh! I've never felt so insulted in my life." Madame Pomeforte rattled off a list of the many slights she had suffered at the hands of her grandniece and the prospective groom. "Since you're her father, you settle her marriage yourself with the Comte!"

"Which comte?" D'Artagnan shuddered inwardly at the thought of the harridan marrying his dear daughter off to some toothless, balding lecher of a nobleman. "Toni can choose to marry whoever she deems fit. I refuse to have anything to do with this…" His aunt tossed her head in disdain and left. The former musketeer felt like laughing. _Good for you, Toni._ No doubt his daughter was smart enough to escape the engagement and was somewhere in Paris. He rubbed his cheek where it still stung. He had to find both the prince and Toni. Perhaps he should seek some help from his friends.

First, he must pay a visit on Monsieur de Treville. He had told Toni much about his former captain's fencing school and it was likely she found shelter there despite the school's dire straits.

* * *

><p>Michel growled impatiently. He had been shaken awake by Rafael and was on the verge of hitting him. Michel felt annoyed for falling asleep propped up against the cookhouse wall with a half-eaten pie on his lap. They were regular customers and the proprietor knew enough of their reputations not to disturb them. How many hour have he wasted?<p>

"Found him! Look!" Rafael was all smiles as he thrust the scrunched-up poster under Michel's nose. "They have him at the theatre!"

"What are we waiting for? Let's get him back!" Gabriel boomed.

"Wait, what do we do with them?" the shorter man whispered. "The cardinal would not like them to talk…"

"We'll see…" Michel yawned and stretched. He was not inclined to kill civilians without explicit orders from His Eminence. No one might take mere actors seriously… Perhaps, if Philippe had been ill-treated, his three guardians would gladly kill whoever hurt him.

They had to kill one of Philippe's keepers once, an old woman whose tongue had loosened with age. Mazarin had decided to let her live initially for her good care of the boy and silence. When the pup learnt that she had died, he had wept. Heaven knew how Philippe would have reacted if the boy knew the old crone died of a broken neck inflicted by Gabriel.

"Michel! Gabriel!" Philippe yelped with glee as two familiar figures strolled into the theatre. After much discussion, the actors had opted to let their young guest join in the rehearsal at the theatre. The boy had shown a keen interest in the workings of putting up a play and eager to help where he could.

"Thank God you're safe!" Gabriel enveloped the boy in a bear-hug. "Lay off, Gabriel. You'll crush him," Michel chided at the sound of a muffled yelp. He scanned the boy for any signs of distress or injury. The pup's feet were bandaged. There were a few bruises on his face but he was grinning ear to ear.

"Who hit you?" Michel asked as he fixed his glare on the actors, who had crowded in with hopes of claiming a reward. Many of them looked away at his glare. "Michel, it wasn't them. Some boys hit me and took my vest and boots… I'm sorry I worried you…" Philippe piped up from the safety of Gabriel's arms.

"Well, well, let's get you away from this pit of decadence," Michel replied and regarded the motley actors with suspicion. One actor did not look away from Michel's glare. Raoul was too used and nigh immune to glares thanks to his fractious relationship with his father.

"Monsieur, I assure you that none of our band would be so low as to harm this poor child, one of God's innocent fools," Raoul protested. "Indeed, young Philippe has proven to be a great encouragement to us. We do not seek any reward, apart that you grace our humble play with your applause," the aspiring playwright dropped a bow with a flourish. "I invite you to our play, _As You Like It_, to be put up next week…"

"Please say yes, Michel," Philippe begged. How could he deny the pup anything? Michel nodded with a sigh.

"_Merci_!" Philippe chirped and hugged Michel about the neck. The trio left the theatre with Philippe safely cradled in his giant friend's arms. Raoul was pleased that their naïve young friend had been safely returned to the bosom of his family, even if the duo could pass as rogues. He waved aside the grumblings of the troupe at the reward denied. He turned and spotted a pale Toni standing beside the stage curtains. She had just entered the theatre via the back door. Now she was trembling like a leaf in the wind.

"Toni?" Raoul placed a hand on her shoulder.

"That man, he's the one who killed my father!" Toni spat. She had drawn her sword. It would be a simple thing for her to run out and run the wolf-eyed man through. But innocent Philippe would be there to witness everything and…

In disgust, she flung her sword onto the floor with clatter and fled for the dressing room.

**Author's Notes:**

Toni's aunt is way off the mark thinking Toni is hiding out on the Spanish border. At least she is not too keen on brokering the marriage with Athos after how he treated her, Another slap for poor D'Artagnan. Raoul is starting to have an infatuation over a sketch of Toni.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer – 3 Musketeers and the characters belong to Alexander Dumas pere.

It is official. I stink at writing fighting scenes.

**Chapter 11**

_A disreputable section of Paris_

D'Artagnan had called on the fencing school earlier only to find it deserted. He understood that his former captain had faced great difficulties trying to establish his school but to see how rundown the place had become since his last visit was a shock. It was only the fresh laundry flapping on the clothesline which convinced him that M. de Treville had not given up and gone back to the country. Hence he decided to call on him at a later hour. It was a few hours before sunset when he started out for St. Madeline's Court again.

His path led him through a once respectable part of Paris which had since fallen on hard times. The once grand houses of long-gone merchants on both sides of the narrow street leaned towards each other like tired whores. The pedestrians here walked in semi-twilight even on the sunniest days. The ladies of the night were out early and seeking custom. D'Artagnan waved one away when she approached. The disappointed girl slinked off into a side alley where she soon found a customer. She was probably a lot younger under all that makeup than he had initially believed.

It was then that he felt a chill run down his spine. He clapped his hand on the hilt of his sword. He scanned his surroundings. A scrawny cat tore into the carcass of what might have been a dead pig. A beggar shuffled deeper into the shadows of a doorway. Some sixth sense warned him of danger. D'Artagnan glanced round. There was nothing suspicious. He decided to leave the narrow streets for the river bank. However, it was to no avail. His shadow had caught on.

Rafael did not waste time with niceties. D'Artagnan drew his sword but not quickly enough. His opponent's blade sliced into his sword arm. The point would have caught him in the heart had he been a fraction of a second slower in turning. Blood flowing from his wounded arm, D'Artagnan struggled to keep his grip on his sword hilt. They duelled in an eerie silence broken only by the clash of steel on steel.

A bite of pain to his thigh announced to the former musketeer that he had received another wound even as he managed to slash open Rafael's cheek. D'Artagnan knew he was tiring, a combination of both his years and injury. His younger opponent was not showing any signs of tiring even though his breath came more heavily. His good eye fared poorly in the dimness and he often found himself misjudging his opponent's strikes and paying for it.

D'Artagnan's boot slid in the mud. He stumbled and his sword flew out of his grip and into the river. With a triumphant smirk, Rafael drove his blade into D'Artagnan's exposed chest as he fought to regain his footing. Blood spurted as D'Artagnan fell forward into the mud.

"Do try to stay dead this time," Rafael muttered mildly under his breath as he dealt the limp form a kick which sent it tumbling down the steep bank and into the river.

Feeling greatly cheered by his triumph, Rafael whistled an Italian tune from his childhood as he continued on his way. He paused to check the pretty glass bauble in his pocket he had bought for Philippe. He was pleased to find it had survived the duel intact. His joy was short-lived when a hearty thump on his shoulder jarred the bauble out of his hand. "Rafael! There you are!" The trinket shattered into a thousand pieces on hitting the cobblestones.

"Gabriel! You dolt!" Rafael hissed and punched the giant in the shoulder.

"Quit it," Michel warned. Rafael had gone off alone to purchase some of those poisons he was so fond of using to dispatch his opponents with. At least he did not stab Gabriel.

"What took you so long?" Gabriel asked.

"Oh, had to kill a stray cat… D'Artagnan."

"D'Artagnan? Did you make sure he's dead?" Michel asked warily. The Queen Mother's chief spy was a thorn in the Cardinal's side.

"Stabbed him in the chest and tossed him into the river," the small man shrugged.

"We better get back to Philippe before he gets worried," Michel added. Philippe was used to their odd hours but he did not like the idea of leaving him unattended after just having being reunited with him. His companions murmured their assent. The trio hastened off into the fading dusk.

* * *

><p>If Rafael had not been so eager to return home, he would have noticed that at the very last moment, D'Artagnan had managed to deflect the point of his sword enough so that it gashed a path along his ribs instead of piercing his lung. Now spitting dirty river water, D'Artagnan dragged his sore body out of the river where the current had thrown him onto a sandy bank. He forced himself to stand and almost fell on his face. The pain of the wound in his side burned like fire and he was sure soaking in the river had done it no favours. The current had tossed him against a pier piling and he was certain he had cracked a rib. Blood loss from his arm was another thing he had to worry about. <em>If he had severed an artery…<em>

"Ah, ah, what has the cat dragged in?" a familiar called out. D'Artagnan glanced up and was surprised to see the friar who had saved his life earlier. He had washed up near some church or seminary.

"Good evening, abbe…" D'Artagnan managed a cocky grin as the friar helped him onto his feet. "Monsieur, come with me. You need a doctor…" Brother Martin urged.

"No- I have something I must d…" D'Artagnan pushed the friar's hand aside firmly. That was as far as he got before his battered body gave out and he fell in a heap at the friar's feet.

* * *

><p><em>Stables near Porthos' house. <em>

"Cher Ami, what should I do?" Toni stroked the nose of her pony. The pony nickered and butted her lightly in the shoulder. "I'm sure he is the man who attacked Papa… but he is Philippe's family and…" The naïve youngster looked up to Michel and thought the world of him. If anything untoward were to happen to Michel, the boy would be shattered. Failing to find words, she threw her arms around the grey pony's neck. To her surprise, the pony pulled away and turned from her.

"Cher Ami?" Toni then saw what had attracted her steed's attention. Raoul was leading his Bon-Bon into the stables. Cher Ami wasted no time in trotting up to the object of his affections, ignoring her irate owner.

"D'Artagnan! Your horse is harassing – OW!" Raoul yelped as Cher Ami brought a well-placed hoof down on his boot. "Damn that donkey!"

"He's not a donkey," Toni giggled helplessly behind her hand at the sight of the young man hopping about on his good foot. She burst out into laughter when Raoul hopped onto a half-hidden rake in the hay and the handle swung up and smacked him in the nose. Bon-Bon trotted coquettishly out of the stable with Cher Ami in amorous pursuit.

"I broke my nose…" Raoul whined and rubbed his nose. He sat down on a pile of hay nearby. He was having a slight nosebleed. Toni took out her handkerchief and approached him. She sat down on the sweet-smelling hay next to him.

"Don't look…" she firmly wiped the blood away before pinching his nose lightly. "I'm bleeding, right?" Raoul asked. Toni nodded. She would need to keep the pressure on his nose for a while. Thankfully, the bleeding soon stopped. Raoul would have a bruised nose for a while.

"You've been here since you ran off earlier? You didn't kill Philippe's guardian already, did you?" Raoul asked. "Shoved him in the Seine?"

"No," Toni glanced at her feet. She should have killed the murderer of her father by now.

"That's a relief," Raoul said. "Revenge is messy stuff. There's this play from England about revenge ruining everyone's life. I think it's called Hamlet. My mother brought me to watch the play once in London while we were visiting her relations." It was the nice chat he had with his maternal grandfather, an avid poet and secret playwright himself, afterwards which got him interested in the theatre. "Toni, even if Philippe's family did hurt your father, I really don't think…"

"Don't you have to act in the play this evening? Or are you joining Monsieur Porthos for a quick meal first?" Toni, eager to change the topic, asked. Raoul nodded sheepishly. "Yes, but I need to ask my godfather to help me out a bit…" He sounded like a little boy who had been caught stealing from the cider jug.

"How?"

"Well, my purse strings are a little tight recently…"

"Wait, you're here to borrow money?" Toni ran a critical eye over Raoul. "That's a new shirt, isn't it? And those boots…" They were brand-new, and that open collar showed off his chest exceedingly well… Toni felt her heart skip a beat or two. She forced herself to look at Raoul's face.

"You should have seen that cloak, the latest Italian fashion… I really have to have it and I'm a little short…" Raoul replied awkwardly. "Oh, come on! Stop looking at me like that! In Paris, the clothes make the man," he blustered. He knew his spending ways must appear awfully wasteful outside Paris, even his late mother had taken him to task over the constant loans he sought from her.

"True, true…" Porthos guffawed as he strode into the stable. "Here you go. Get yourself a new hat as well, one with a big feather!" the giant tossed Raoul a bulging coin pouch. "Oh, Toni, could you go help Planchet out in the yard? He is having some problems with your horse." The pained yells of the servant sounded from the small yard. Cher Ami definitely objected to poor servant butting in on his personal time with Bon-Bon. With a hasty apology, Toni hurried out to the man's aid.

* * *

><p><em>He was on pilgrimage to see the holy relics and pray before them. This time, he swore he would not be distracted from his religious quest. Slowly and steadily, he mounted the steps of the grand church housing the saint's bones. They seemed to him to be endless. Finally he reached the church door. It was pitch dark within. He stood hesitant on the threshold. He fished out his handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his brow. <em>

"_Aramis?" a feminine voice called out softly. Aramis swallowed hard as he turned round. She was there. Josephine de Beauforte smiled at him the same way she smiled at him when they first met at the top of the church steps. She had tripped and sprained her ankle. He had escorted her back to her lodgings and ended up sharing her bed for a week. This time, he would step aside and let her tumble down the steps… No, he couldn't… He wrestled with himself. _

_Her hands closed on his arm and she pressed her breasts against him. He could smell her heady perfume. "Madame, we mustn't… Your husband…" the poor abbe protested and pulled away from her. She stepped back with a pout. Josephine had not told Aramis her husband's name, choosing to refer to him as that boor of a comte. It did not matter to Aramis then as they both knew it was only a fling and they would leave town with little chance of their paths crossing again. _

"_Here is your son," her twinkling voice mocked him. She produced from behind her a dark-haired boy which resembled a younger version of Aramis. "Aren't you going to acknowledge him and the rest of your bastards?" Josephine waved an arm over the church, on which all Aramis' past lovers had materialized accompanied by children who look alarmingly like the poor abbe._

* * *

><p>"NO! Forgive me! God forgive me!"<p>

"Aramis, wake up!"

Aramis felt hands shaking his shoulders roughly. _Yes, it must be Athos killing him for seducing his wife._ "Sorry, forgive me! Athos, I'm sorry!"

"WAKE UP!" Porthos bellowed. Aramis' eyes snapped open. He was lying in his bed at Porthos' house with his large friend looming over him. Concern was written all over his friend's face. "Nightmare? You were yelling fit to bring the roof down." Porthos asked mildly as he helped Aramis into a sitting position. "Care to tell me about it?" He was not surprised when Aramis shook his head.

"Sorry I disturbed you…"

"You woke Toni and Planchet. That idiot Planchet woke me up, right in the middle of a dream with two of Madame Esmeralda's girls… If anyone should be apologizing, it's him. I sent Toni back to bed already." There was no need to involve young Toni in this.

"Thanks, Porthos…"

"I'll get Planchet to warm some wine… help you to get back to sleep."

"No thanks," Aramis shook his head. Porthos laughed. "I suppose you dreamed of messing up on some mission and Athos getting mad at you. You know, back in the early days, I had few nightmares like that. I dreamed I got the details wrong and ruined the mission. Then there was that woman… Yes, I'm referring to Milady…" The chatter was a way of trying to get Aramis to relax but the poor man was still as tightly-wound as a spring. "She was a very beautiful woman and I can see why Athos was attracted to her. Hell, even I was attracted to her. Such a flirt, a very dangerous female… I thank my lucky stars I did not give in to temptation…"

"Or Athos would have killed you?" Aramis replied guardedly.

"Possibly. He was hopelessly in love with her back then. We have been friends for a very long time but where women are concerned," Porthos shrugged.

"Porthos, if you knew I was paying court to one of your women…" Aramis started out cautiously.

"Which one?" Porthos laughed. "If she was one of Madame Esmeralda's ladies, I'm sure we could work out an arrangement, maybe a threesome… If she was some woman I'm pursuing for a wife, then may the best man win. Besides, it will never happen. Your preferences differ from mine. I like my ladies plump and… wait- Don't tell me you got Widow Lombardo with child…"

"No! I don't know any widow named Lombardo," Aramis protested. "Are you intending to marry her?"

"I asked but she wouldn't have me," Porthos shrugged. "Said I was young enough to be her grandson. I thought she was younger. Such a beauty," Porthos' eyes took on a wistful look. "Guess guys like us aren't exactly husband material. What's all this coming from you? The next thing you'd be telling me you and Athos'-"

The poor abbe went grey in the face. "P-Porthos… maybe you should leave… I'm tired…" Aramis dove under the covers before he could incriminate himself further.

**Author's Notes:**

D'Artagnan goes for an unplanned swim again. At least he survived. He has as many lives as a cat but at the rate he is getting into danger and all, he might still run out.

More antics from the horses and poor Aramis has a nightmare. Porthos is getting really, really close to guessing the source of Aramis' distress.


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer – 3 Musketeers and the characters belong to Alexander Dumas pere.

I will miss seeing Suthernbelle's works on this site.

In this chapter, more of Louis XIV and his twin.

**Chapter 12**

_Versailles _

"Mother, must we go to Paris?" Louis XIV frowned. "The place smells and those people…"

"Louis, they are your subjects and they love you. Paris is where Notre Dame stands. Your father and his father before him prayed there," Anne coaxed. The king was being difficult again. The pageantry of the planned ceremony was to affirm her son's place as the absolute monarch of France. He was a mere infant when he was crowned king after his father's death. At fifteen, Louis XIV was still a child in many ways. Cardinal Mazarin had made it clear to many of the nobles Louis was too tender in his years to rule alone. Anne took a deep breath. Louis needed guidance still. She had assembled a council of nobles to guide him and Mazarin would have no part of it. She clutched her napkin.

"Are you well, Mother?" Louis' voice called out. He motioned for the manservant waiting on him to fetch the physician. "Are you faint?"

Anne shook her head and pushed her half-eaten breakfast away. "I would like to go with you, my son… It's been so long since I was in Paris…" _Where was D'Artagnan?_ He had not reported back after that thrashing he received from her son. _Could something have happened to him?_ She no longer knew who to trust now with Constance long dead. She missed Constance's wit and good cheer. Her most loyal attendant had left court life after her marriage to live on her husband's lands in Gascony as custom decreed. Most of the ladies who attended her now had the nerves and intelligence of sheep. Yet someone has definitely been tipping Cardinal Mazarin off.

"Of course, dearest Mother…"

Anne wondered if she should breach the topic of Philippe. She opened her mouth but closed it without saying a word. The servants lurking behind their chairs might be spying for Mazarin and his cohorts.

* * *

><p><em>Paris<em>

"Rafael, you're hurt…" Philippe reached over to touch the scabbing wound on his cheek. The swarthy man drew back from his touch from embarrassment. "Did you get into a fight?"

"He got drunk and walked into a wall," Michel lied. Rafael nodded. The notion of his guardians putting their lives at risk in fights always upset Philippe. "Eat up your oatmeal if you want to grow up big and strong," Gabriel called out cheerfully as he filled their bowls with breakfast. It was his turn to cook. The Archangels never saw the need for servants pottering about their lodgings, apart from the old mute woman who collected their laundry on Wednesdays. The giant enjoyed the chore of cooking but his good cheer was a bit forced this morning. The date was drawing close. The cardinal had been calling more often over the past week.

"I'll never be as strong as you, not with this leg," Philippe pouted and stared at his feet. "You don't need to be big or strong, pup," Michel patted the boy's shoulder reassuringly.

"I can't even walk properly and Father gets upset…"

"Forget what that moron Maza…" The words died on Gabriel's lips. He stared at the door. Everyone turned in that direction.

"Father!" Philippe leapt up and limped over to the cardinal. He was unexpectedly early. Like always, Mazarin had shed his clerical garments for the disguise of a merchant.

"Come with me, Philippe… there's much work to be done…" Mazarin took the teen by the hand and dragged him over to the stairs leading up to the study.

The Archangels seethed at his interruption of their breakfast. Mazarin would have Philippe trying to walk on his bad leg again despite the pain it caused the boy. Rafael crept off on soft feet to the kitchen to prepare his ointments for sore muscles and swollen joints. Gabriel and Michel took their seats in the parlour while they waited for Mazarin to be done with their charge's training.

* * *

><p>"Porthos, you did what?" Athos groaned and stared at his sheepish-looking friend. He had been on the verge of returning to his estate. He had wanted to enjoy a leisurely ride through the countryside alone and sent the servants onwards before him with most of his luggage, leaving only a light saddle-bag behind. No doubt they must have left the city by now.<p>

"Sorry, but she asked so sweetly and I didn't think our abbe here would have given Planchet leave to visit his sister."

"But Porthos, his sister is ill with the lung fever and he's the only kin she has left…" Aramis protested when Porthos glared at him.

"So Monsieur de Treville thinks my servants and yours will be helping him clean that old stable and pigsty of his?" Athos growled. The idea of stooping to common and not to mention backbreaking labour, even if it was for the sake of his former captain, did not appeal to him.

"Come on, Athos, I gave her my word…" Porthos blustered, "As a musketeer…"

"Her? You promised some female we will help?" Athos snapped waspishly.

"She's Marie, Monsieur de Treville's niece…" Porthos confessed. "Well, she's awfully nice and a great cook… We could have dinner there… Please, Athos. All for one and one for all?" he invoked their motto in a desperate attempt to get Athos to agree.

"Well, I have already sent my servants on and it's too late to send a message after them… Listen, Porthos, if you're keen on marrying Marie, you better go about it properly or de Treville will come after you with a loaded musket," Athos stood up and winced as the bones in his spine creaked. "Is Raoul going to be there?" he asked.

"Raoul's gone to the tailor's for a fitting, after which he agreed to bring a few friends from the theatre to help. Do you have a few gold coins to pay those lads with?" Aramis volunteered. Athos snorted in disdain. "Toni has gone onto St Madeline's Court first to see where he could help," Porthos added.

"At least D'Artagnan's boy has his priorities set right… and I'm not paying those players even if they do show up, which I doubt they will…" Athos muttered angrily.

* * *

><p>The trio arrived at St Madeline's Court to find the place abuzz with as much activity as it had been back in the days when it was a prospering fencing school. A half-dozen youths were bustling about the yard fixing fences, filling in potholes and catching wayward livestock. The pigs had gotten out of their sty and a hole had been broken in the chicken coop. In the midst of the chaos was de Treville's niece. Marie Boulton had recruited the services of some neighbourhood lads in exchange for her squab pies. Cher Ami was tied up by a chestnut tree, dangerously close to the clothesline and the mischievous pony was sampling what seemed to be de Treville's second best shirt.<p>

"Uncle Porthos!" young Henri squealed in delight and ran into Porthos' arms. The giant scooped up the child and sat him on his shoulders.

"Really, Porthos, I thought you would never come…" Marie bustled over and gave the giant a peck on the cheek. A piglet ran between them with a boy in hot pursuit. "Give me Henri. It's time for his nap…"

With near-military precision, Marie listed out the chores assigned to the trio after thanking them for their time and help. "Do try to keep the din down. My uncle has a cold and he's resting in his room…" she added as she tucked her son under her arm and ushered him within the house.

"She sounds almost like our captain, doesn't she?" Aramis managed a weak grin. The lack of sleep and nightmares had left him weary and listless.

They had been assigned to help Toni clean out the stables, part of which was tottering at a crazy angle. The stables had been so neglected for so long that a flock of pigeons had made their roost in the loft. Marie would like the troublesome birds rousted from the loft and in the dovecote she was having one of the neighbourhood apprentices build on the far end of the yard. They found Toni there scowling at the ceiling. There was straw in Toni's blond hair and a bruise on her cheek. A gaping hole was above. Through the hole, curious pigeons gawked at the intruders.

"I nearly broke my neck falling through that. Be careful, this place is falling to pieces…" Toni warned as she dusted her clothes. She was sweating under her chest-bindings, shirt and vest. She wiped dirt and sweat from her brow. It was an unusually stifling day and the rotting straw from the loft and stalls made things worse in the stables. Still, the hard work took her mind off her dilemma over her father's killer.

Apparently oblivious to Toni's warning, Aramis started up the creaking ladder leading to the loft.

"No! Don't go up there. The loft is about to collapse…" Toni grabbed Aramis by the back of his shirt.

The words were barely out of her mouth when the rafters gave a dangerous groan.

"RUN!" Athos shouted. He grabbed Toni, who was the nearest to him and shoved her roughly towards the exit.

It was too late. With a terrific crash, the entire loft and back of the stable roof collapsed in a cloud of mouldy wood, rotten straw, bird droppings and feathers. A flock of pigeons took flight and fled for the safety of a nearby belfry.

For a moment, the other helpers stared at the ruined stables in stunned silence. Half of the building had fallen in on itself. Marie ran out into the yard to see what the commotion was. She screamed when she saw the wrecked stables.

"Oh heavens! Is anyone in there?" Even Monsieur de Treville had been roused from his bed. The old man was sticking his head out of the window and peering at the latest destruction to his property.

"Porthos! Toni!" Marie screamed as she ran for the stables. Cher Ami tore himself free from the fence he was tied to and trotted over.

"Marie! I'm fine, get the others out!" Porthos shouted. He was standing on his feet and supporting a fallen beam with his hands to keep it from crushing Aramis, who was huddled at his feet, stunned but apparently unscathed. Marie shouted for the others to come and help. The boys came running over. Cher Ami did not hesitate. Poking gingerly through a pile of straw and splinters, he soon located his unconscious owner.

The stalwart pony grabbed hold of the back of his owner's shirt and pulled her clear of the rubble. Toni groaned weakly as she regained her senses. In dragging his owner to safety, the pony accidentally trod on Athos' hand, eliciting a yelp of pain from the poor man and rousing him.

"Hey, some help here, you damned horse!" Athos bellowed. A pair of sturdy apprentices grabbed hold of his arms and legs and hauled him roughly out. Aramis was able to stagger to his feet and exit the stables with Porthos' help.

Even the invalid de Treville was in the yard, clad in his dressing gown and nightshirt. The former captain was ordering a few curious neighbourhood children away from the unstable building in case of a further collapse.

The stable was well beyond salvaging now. Having regained her senses, Toni was back on her feet relatively unscathed. She murmured her thanks to her pony and stroked his nose. Athos was nursing his wounded hand, courtesy of Cher Ami. Porthos was dusting his clothes off while Aramis was pulling bits of straw from his beard. All four had escaped serious injury but they were all were covered with muck.

"Bath," Athos grunted as he tried to disentangle a feather from his hair.

"We can't leave looking like this," Porthos agreed. Aramis tried to say something but coughed up a stray feather instead.

"I'll have Marie see if we can spare any clothes…" Monsieur de Treville added. There was a well in the yard the four could wash up at. A modest fence newly erected that morning would serve as a screen for anyone washing up there. The three former musketeers were already making a beeline for it. Porthos threw the well bucket in with a splash and pulled up a bucket of clean water.

"Er, I believe Monsieur Toni has sprained her ankle," Marie added.

"But I'm fine, really…" Toni started but Marie cut her words off with a well-placed elbow to the ribs. "Oh, yes… I feel a bit woozy, perhaps I need to sit a bit…" the young woman caught on to what the older woman was doing.

"You gentlemen continue… I'll get some ointment for Toni's ankle… And I'll see what we can do for clothes," Marie smiled and steered Toni into the building. "You look a mess, girl. Don't fret. I'll have some warm water in the kitchen for you to wash up with," she whispered.

**Author's Notes:**

Next, our three musketeers in a state of undress? Then Toni walks in on them? What do you think?


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer – 3 Musketeers and the characters belong to Alexander Dumas pere.

Athos finds out about Aramis' past misdeed. Explosion imminent.

**Chapter 13**

Brother Martin had taken away his soiled garments and left his patient dressed only in a shirt. D'Artagnan winced as he pulled on the pair of old breeches he had found under his bed. It smelled mouldy but would have to do until he could get back to his rooms. D'Artagnan was not going to go out in the streets wearing only a shirt.

His wounds were still raw and there was a high chance of infection. However, he would risk it. He had neglected his mission for too long already. More importantly, he had been away from his daughter for far too long. If Toni was in Paris, he must make sure she was safe. The monks had left their patients unattended when they left for their prayers, except for the lay brother who was nodding off beside the bed of an elderly man. Most of the patients were napping or drugged against their pain. The former musketeer tiptoed out into the kitchen corridor, narrowly avoiding discovery by a scullion. Finally, he slipped out of the monastery hospital.

Once safely in his rooms, he changed into a clean shirt and breeches. He had lost his sword and there was no time to get another. Regretfully, D'Artagnan wished he had had the foresight to keep a spare sword in his rooms. A dagger would have to serve him for now. He tucked the weapon into his belt and almost dropped it in his fumbling. His bandaged hand would hamper him in a fight. He had to be careful to avoid any more encounters with the Archangels.

* * *

><p>"Thanks, Marie…" Toni sighed with relief as she scrubbed the grime from her limbs. Marie had provided her with a tub to wash in. There was a kettle on the nearby heath for hot water. She felt a twinge of guilt that the men were outside washing with cold well water while she enjoyed a warm bath.<p>

"No problem, Toni…" Marie replied. "I would advise you not to go out of the kitchen yet, until the men get dressed…" The other helpers have been rewarded with delicious game and squab pies. Splashes and yells from outside the shuttered window reminded the women of the men bathing by the well. Young Henri and M. de Treville had been sent to their beds. Henri needed his nap or he would be cranky later and the invalid de Treville needed his rest.

"I better go give them their clothes," Marie smiled and left the kitchen in a swish of skirts. Alone now, Toni allowed herself to sink into the warm water as much as the tub would allow. The warmth was starting lull her into a state of relaxation. Toni chided herself back to wakefulness. She must be dressed before the men finished their bath. Then she recalled her pony. Cher Ami deserved an apple or two for saving her. The shirt was too large but she could tie up the collar so that the chest-bindings did not show. The breeches were too wide at the waist but a length of rope served as a belt.

* * *

><p>"This is just like old times," Porthos wheezed as he emptied a bucket over his head. Marie had provided them with towels which they wore over their hips. Nearby, their soiled clothes soaked in a washtub.<p>

Aramis nodded in agreement. "Well, I seem to recall you had a smaller belly then." He was promptly elbowed by Porthos. Athos chuckled. They were all out of shape. Cher Ami reached over the fence and nipped hold of a corner of Athos' towel. The pony jerked his head and the inevitable happened.

"Hey, give me back my towel!" Athos yelled as the grey pony trotted off with his towel. Butt-naked, a furious Athos raced after the pony who teased him by slowing just so that he could catch up, then galloping off. Porthos chuckled.

"Hey, some help here!" Athos growled. "What's going on?" Toni stepped out into the yard and-

"Oh!" Poor Toni's eyes almost popped out of their sockets when she saw a naked Athos chasing Cher Ami. The grey pony wickedly taunted Athos by flapping the towel in his mouth about.

"Cher Ami! Stop!" Toni cried out. "Apologies…" she yanked the towel away from her wayward steed and handed it to Athos, carefully averting her eyes.

"Thanks…" Athos took the towel and covered himself, painfully aware that even if Toni was not looking, his other two friends probably were and who knows if his former captain saw anything from his bedroom window. He stole a glance upwards. M. de Treville was standing at his window, stoically studying the clouds in the sky.

Young Henri was at his window, staring wide-eyed at the scene below. He looked like he was bursting to say something and Athos silently dared him to. The youngster did not disappoint. "Maman! The man with no clothes was chasing the horsie!" Henri blurted aloud. At the boy's innocent words, both Porthos and Aramis roared with laughter.

"Are you gentlemen done yet? I have some clothes which might fit in the parlour…" Marie called out of a downstairs window. Toni took hold of Cher Ami's reins in time to stop him from nipping Athos' towel again. Athos retreated inside the building.

"Toni, by any chance is Cher Ami related to your father's old horse, Buttercup?" Porthos jested as he and Aramis emerged from behind the fence. Toni hastily averted her eyes when she saw that Porthos' towel barely covered his hips. She shook her head. Her father had purchased Cher Ami as a colt from a passing gypsy.

"Get in and dressed before you catch a cold," Marie called out. The two men went in, much to Toni's relief.

* * *

><p>"As expected, that boy did not even show up. Well, I'm going back to the inn," Athos huffed and stood up after wearing the clothes Marie had provided. He was of a built similar to de Treville and the clothes were a good fit.<p>

"Will you be joining us later for a drink or two?" Porthos called out cheerfully. Athos shook his head. "No, I will be returning home."

"Porthos, I have a confession to make," Aramis whispered when Athos had closed the door and the footsteps died away.

"A confession? Were you the one who ate the last meat pie this morning?" Porthos jested as he struggled with the breeches. They were far too tight. Perhaps he would have to send Toni or Aramis back to fetch a pair of his own breeches, or walk home in a shirt.

"I gave it to Planchet… no, that is not what I'm going to tell you…" Aramis admitted. "Porthos, could you keep this from Athos, please…"

"What's your deep, dark secret now? You got into bed with his wife?" Porthos teased. To his horror, Aramis shamefully nodded in reply.

"Aramis, you're kidding, right?" Porthos gasped. Aramis shook his head in silence. "You slept with Athos' wife? How could you!"

"Mea culpa, mea culpa… It happened while I was on pilgrimage when I met Josephine… I didn't know she was his wife… I thought she was married to some boring old count…" Aramis started. Once he started, he could not stop. "He hasn't treated Josephine with the love she deserves and Raoul… that boy might be my son… Yet he treats him like dirt all because of his fear of blood. Look, he may be a good leader and musketeer but he's one hell of a poor husband and father…"

The abbe had his back facing the door. He did not see the door behind him swing open and a glowering Athos standing behind him. Porthos did and the giant blanched when he saw the simmering rage in Athos' eyes.

"ARAMIS!" Aramis turned at the shout and promptly felt a punch connect with his jaw with enough force to knock out one of his teeth.

* * *

><p>Raoul knew he was late. It had taken longer than expected at the tailor's and later the theatre convincing the troupe to help. Jacques and Guy finally agreed to come with him for the promise of a generous fee for their labour. "Uncle Porthos?" the young man called out.<p>

"Raoul! Here for your fencing lesson?" Toni called out a greeting as she brushed her pony's coat.

"No, I'm here for…" Raoul scowled at her.

"Aramis! Run!" Aramis bolted out the door, bleeding from the face. A livid Athos was hot on his heels while Porthos panted and wheezed behind the pair. Aramis did not get far before Athos pounced on him, slamming him bodily into the stone wall. Porthos tried to pry his friends apart.

"Come on, Athos! Calm down! You were so furious even when you caught her with that dancing teacher…" The late countess' reputation and the endless stream of her admirers calling on her was no secret to most.

"This is different, Porthos! _He _was my friend and _he_ slept with _my _wife!"

Athos had his hands around Aramis' throat and the abbe was turning an alarming shade of blue. Raoul and his friends gaped in horror at the sight. Raoul had never seen his father in such a fearsome temper, even when he caught their clerk kissing his late mother. Marie was screaming from somewhere in the house. Her uncle was yelling something from his bedroom window. Not wanting to linger longer for fear of being embroiled in a murder, Jacques and Guy muttered their hasty apologies before abandoning Raoul and going back to the theatre.

"Father! You'll kill him!" Raoul cried out. He clung onto his father's arm but Athos shook his hand off roughly. The youth was sent crashing into Porthos.

"I'm not your father, you bastard! He is!" Athos bellowed and shook Aramis like a rag doll. A stunned silence settled over the yard as soon as the words were out of Athos' mouth. Athos suddenly relinquished his grip on Aramis and allowed the gasping man to sink to his knees. Slowly Athos turned to face Raoul. The hurt in his stricken eyes was obvious. Athos regretted his hasty words but the damage was done. The young man stepped back. Then he fled out of the gate.

"Raoul!" Toni shouted. A whinny and a dust-cloud announced that Raoul was spurring his mare at a dangerous speed through the streets. Toni whistled. Cher Ami came galloping to her side, pausing only to allow Toni to swing herself onto the pony's bare back, having removed the saddle earlier to brush Cher Ami. "Raoul, wait!" She galloped after the young man.

"Nice going, Athos, simply great…" Porthos growled as he helped Aramis to his feet. "Raoul thinks the world of you. He's your son, and has been for the past twenty years for crying out loud… You can't just disown him like this."

* * *

><p>D'Artagnan was limping along the street when he was narrowly mowed down by a finely-dressed youth on a chestnut mare. He had to step knee-deep into the gutter to avoid injury. "You little rascal, watch where you're going!" D'Artagnan could feel something slimy entering his boot. Angry yells, curses and shaking fists all along the road announced that he was not the only pedestrian the rider had nearly trampled.<p>

"Raoul, wait!"

D'Artagnan threw himself into the gutter for a second time as a blond youth on a grey pony came galloping by. The grey pony looked very familiar, as did his rider… This time, D'Artagnan landed face-first in the filth. Glumly, he wiped his face with a hand. He was going to Monsieur de Treville stinking like a pig sty. That would really bring back memories about the time he and his fellow musketeers landed in a pile of manure after fleeing from the cardinal's guards.

He plodded through the gate of the fencing school and was greeted by the sight of Athos sitting glumly on a pile of firewood. Aramis was on his knees, coughing and spitting blood. Porthos stood over them looking more sombre than D'Artagnan had ever seen him. Wearing a dressing-gown, de Treville hovered nearby. Before D'Artagnan could greet them or make sense of the scene…

"Be off with you! We don't have anything for beggars!" a small woman came running and waving a broom menacingly at him.

"Wait! It's me- OW!" The broom landed on his wounded arm with all the force the housekeeper could muster. "D'Artagnan!"

"D'Artagnan?" Four pairs of eyes were riveted on him.

"Thank God, you're alive," the former captain cried out. "You look like you fell into a manure-pile, again. Marie! Draw him some water and get some clothes!" The housekeeper need not be told a second time. She vanished into the house to prepare a bath.

"Your son, he told us you were dead!" Porthos gasped. He rushed forward and enveloped the younger man in a hug. Athos and Aramis held back.

"I don't have a son…" a bewildered D'Artagnan declared. "Has Toni been here?"

"Wait, isn't Antoine your boy?" Athos questioned. He had a sinking feeling in his gut.

"I only have one daughter and her name's Antoinette…" D'Artagnan replied.

"WHAT? Toni's a girl!" Four jaws dropped and four pairs of eyes bugged out in unison.

"You mean that Athos was running naked after that crazy pony while a woman was watching?" Porthos blurted in stunned disbelief. "D'Artagnan! If you were alive all this while where on earth have you been?"

**Author's Notes: **

Cat's out of the bag now.


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer – 3 Musketeers and the characters belong to Alexander Dumas pere.

D'Artagnan finally gets some much-needed help and advice from his friends.

**Chapter 14**

"Raoul! Wait up!" Toni yelled as she spurred her pony on. They had cleared the inner city of Paris and galloped past the city gates, greatly annoying the guards there. It was fortunate that the road and gate Raoul took were nearly deserted at this time of the day. They were in the country now. Raoul's mare was strong and swift. It was hard for Cher Ami to catch up. However, she expected the brown mare to tire soon. Growing up on the farm among horses had taught her much and she recognized Bon-Bon as being of a stock which favoured speed over stamina. Her grey pony more than made up for what he lacked in speed with sheer stamina. Cher Ami has been known to keep up a steady trot for half a day.

True enough, the brown mare's pace slackened when the first hedgerows appeared. Her sides were flecked with lather. The path rose steeply and twisted wildly here. Most riders would slow or stop by now. However, Raoul was still caught up in his own whirlpool of emotions. He dug his boots into the sides of his steed and let loose a string of curses worthy of a sailor.

"Stop that!" Toni drew alongside him on the narrow path. She reached over to grab hold of his elbow but he pulled away from her touch.

"Let me go!" he snapped.

"Calm down, you'll kill Bon-Bon the way you're driving her!" Toni warned and tried to snatch hold of the reins. Bon-Bon was a nice mare and she was not going to let Raoul kill her through his bad temper.

"Let me be!" Raoul lashed out. His arm struck Toni a glancing blow which was sufficient to unbalance her. Already perched precariously in the saddle as she leaned over for the mare's reins, she lost her grip on her saddle and tumbled off.

"No!" In horror, Raoul saw Toni fall. He lunged over to catch her, and lost his own balance. The pair tumbled off the path and rolled down the hillside.

The horses whinnied and swished their tails as they watched their riders fall. The pair came to a halt at the bottom in a ditch. The horses stared at the sight for a heartbeat before trotting off to drink from a nearby pool.

* * *

><p><em>Back at de Treville's… <em>

Monsieur de Treville glowered at the four former musketeers seated around his table. Porthos was still wearing that too-small shirt. D'Artagnan still reeked of the gutter and Aramis bore bruises all over his face. More noticeably, both Aramis and Athos were across from each other but studiously refused to look the other in the eye. In light of D'Artagnan's revelations of a possible plot against the king… First things first…

"Gentlemen, we have a far more pressing issue at stake..."

"He slept with my wife!"

"I'm sorry…"

"Guys, my godson Raoul is missing…"

"So's my daughter, Porthos…"

"Boy, if you had been less headstrong and come to us for help in the first place…"

"Will the four of you shut up? Are you a pack of schoolboys from down the street or loyal musketeers of the King?" de Treville gritted his teeth. A grudging silence fell over the table. "D'Artagnan. Fill us in on what you have discovered so far…"

"Cardinal Mazarin has His Majesty's identical twin in his custody. The prince did not perish in a fire like we believed. My late colleagues, God rest their souls, have uncovered evidence of a faction of dissatisfied men within the King's guards. We suspect that trouble has been planned for the king's visit to Paris later in the month. It is likely that Mazarin is behind this. We were gathering more evidence to justify any arrest… There is also another problem…"

"The queen mother. You investigate this matter at her bidding and not King Louis XIV's," Aramis caught on. "Her Majesty is concerned for the safety of her sons, both of them. You have yet to locate where the prince is held and you think he might be implicated in Mazarin's scheme somehow."

"There are three guards in particular who are in Mazarin's pay. I'm been attacked several times," D'Artagnan admitted ruefully. "They go by the names Michel, Rafael and Gabriel. They are reasonably skilled swordsmen and one is trained in the use of a crossbow. In addition, they are professional assassins trained in doing Mazarin's dirty work. The prince might be with them and there is that risk…"

Athos swore suddenly. "D'Artagnan, you mentioned the King's guards… I've been approached by Comte Blabber-mouth Dumont… His cousin is the captain of the guards and there is some conspiracy afoot involving the cardinal and some of the nobles…" Athos listed the names of the nobles Comte had mentioned in their one-sided conversation.

"Good grief, Athos… If half those people are indeed involved, there's hardly anyone in the court we can seek help from!" Aramis exclaimed.

"What would you know?" Athos growled.

"My students and instructors have long left Paris, if not joined the King's guards," de Treville admitted. There was no unit of trained swordsmen they can rely on to protect the king during his visit and little time to assemble those still loyal to their old fencing master. But they must try. "I'll send word to some reliable lads..." It was a risky proposition as they did not know who among the guards they can trust.

"Don't we have some simple plan like jumping into the guards' barracks and thrashing those assassins, or collaring Mazarin and wringing the truth out of him?" Porthos complained. He preferred direct action to all the planning and waiting.

D'Artagnan shook his head. "No. That's too risky…"

Athos spoke up. "Let me approach Dumont and find out more…"

"Athos! You can't possibly take that risk…" D'Artagnan started but Athos silenced him with a glare.

"Some nobles are in on this and we need to find out who. I'm a comte and I'm sure Dumont and his conspirators would not be wary of an old, useless drunk like me."

"Oh, Athos, you're not a useless drunk… Her Majesty, the Queen Mother, would like the prince to be safely retrieved…" D'Artagnan remarked. He was taking a huge risk disclosing the existence of the prince to his friends. Anne might be displeased and who knew how Louis XIV would react, but he will worry about that later. He was too injured to continue alone and he needed backup, even if it were from four men most would consider past their prime.

"Well, then… I guess it is up to us five now…" D'Artagnan admitted. _Five men against a possible rebellion of unknown proportions. _In his heyday, he would have leapt at the challenge. However, he now had Antoinette to consider…

"Five? You forget Raoul,Toni and me…" Marie said curtly as she stepped into the room to remove Athos' depleted wine bottles.

"Marie, you have young Henri to consider," de Treville chided. "And Raoul is no soldier. As for Toni…" the old man paused. "Oh, just go pack and leave Paris as soon as possible. I'm sure there is some convent or church you can stay at for a bit… Tell Raoul and Toni the same when they get back…"

"Actually, I'm also here to inform you that their horses are back, but their riders are missing…" Marie replied without missing a beat. "Uncle, shall we go search for them now or wait for sunup?"

**Author's Notes:**

Finally, a reunion for the four and their captain. But Raoul and Toni are stuck in a ditch without their horses.


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer – 3 Musketeers and the characters belong to Alexander Dumas pere.

An intimate situation for the young ones.

**Chapter 15**

"Which gate did they take?"

"The west one on Rue Sainte Anne, I think… but the gates would be shut by now…"

"Let's just ask Cher Ami…"

"D'Artagnan, that crazy grey pony is busying himself trying to impregnate my son's mare!"

"They might have left the city gates by now. I know the guards at Rue Honore. We'll try to ask a favour of him…"

It was a motley quintet which plodded the streets of the city after Porthos and Aramis had dealt with a change of clothes and D'Artagnan's wounds seen to by Marie. M. de Treville had left his niece back home while the menfolk took to the streets searching for the missing pair. It became apparent with sundown that the pair was no longer within the city walls.

* * *

><p>Raoul moaned and rubbed his head. He had a splitting headache. Something was lying across his chest. He cautiously opened his eyes. Night had fallen but the moon was up. A shaft of moonlight illuminated the weight lying on his chest. <em>Fair hair.<em> He lifted his arm and brushed aside the hair covering the face of whoever was sprawled across him. _Toni._ With a weak groan, he wriggled his body a little to ease the pressure on his bruised ribs. He had fallen off horses before, back when he was a little boy just learning to ride. Granted, the small ponies he was started on were nothing like Bon-Bon in size.

Easing himself into a half-sitting position, he rubbed the back of his skull and felt something sticky there. Hurriedly, he wiped his hand on the grass before looking at it. He might have gashed his scalp during the fall. He realised his wounded arm might be bleeding again. The bandages looked suspiciously darker. He fought the urge to be sick. The wind was still knocked from him. As his eyes adjusted to the night, he could pick out the grassy slope they had tumbled down. Their horses were gone. Bon-Bon was a fine steed and he was worried she had been stolen.

_Was Toni injured badly?_ He rolled Toni off him. There was a bruise to the brow and some mud and dirt all over his clothes. No doubt he must also look a fine sight. The collar of Toni's shirt had been torn open. It was then that he noticed the bandages round Toni's exposed chest. _Had Toni been injured recently? _

The boy might be insufferable as a fencing teacher but Raoul was not going to let him die in front of him. The night was starting to turn cooler now. They were both ill-equipped for a night in the open. They had to get back to the city or to some shelter if the gates were already closed. First, he needed Toni on his feet. Raoul took Toni by the shoulder and shook firmly.

"Hey, wake up!" Raoul glanced at his still unconscious companion. Footfalls were approaching. It was too late for decent people to be on the roads. He had been warned of brigands prowling the roads after sundown. Raoul clutched Toni close to him as he dragged her over to some shadows. A stab of pain announced he had twisted his ankle. Cussing softly, he flung his good arm under Toni's arms and across her chest for better purchase. The bandages on Toni's chest had come loose.

"What the…" Raoul's palm inevitably came into contact with Toni's breast. His fingers closed on that soft flesh to reaffirm that he was not dreaming or mistaken. Unfortunately, it was that moment that Toni emerged into wakefulness. She reacted instinctively, spinning around and slapping him the same way she had been forced to deal with an amorous village lad back home once. Then it was a knee to the groin before Toni succumbed to her injured ankle and fell in a groaning heap on the dried leaves. The wind knocked out of him by Toni's unexpected attack, Raoul lost his balance and fell, right on top of her.

"Y-you… a-are a woman?" Raoul's voice gasped, bare inches from her face. Toni was glad they were in the shadows. She must be blushing like a tomato and Raoul was so close to her, his skin warm against her… "I-I'm sorry… it was an accident…"

"Y-yes… I'm sorry I hurt you…" Toni forced the words out. Surely he could feel her heart racing. "Does it hurt… there?" Raoul was still clutching his groin even as he lay with his face in the hollow of her neck.

"Of course it does!" Raoul protested. His breath was hot against Toni's skin. She shivered. This was most awkward. She was lying on her back in some ditch under a man she had just kneed in the groin.

"Well, well… Look what we have here, lads! Two boys romping in a ditch…" The commotion had attracted some attention. There were men holding lit torches looking down from the road. Their coarse manners and rough clothes gave them away as brigands. Raoul's grimy but fashionable garments caught their leader's attention.

"Seize them!"

Before Raoul or Toni could even get to their feet, the robbers were already on them, grabbing them by the arms and dragging them to the road. A torch was brought close for the leader to better inspect their prize. A critical eye was run over Raoul first. His purse was cut off his person and emptied for the few coins within. The leader stroked his greasy goatee.

"Well, well… a fine young popinjay we have. Where's your family, boy? I don't doubt they'd pay handsomely for your safe return. As for your friend…" The torch cast its sickly yellow light on Toni. She fought against the hands of her captors in vain. A murmur ran through the gang.

"A woman," the leader guffawed. "A pretty thing to boot!" With her shirt open and her bandages falling off her chest from the manhandling, there was no way she could hide her gender. The man caressed her cheek with a dirty hand.

"You, my pretty, will entertain us tonight… Argh!" the leader screamed as Toni lunged suddenly and sank her teeth into the flesh of his palm. The suddenness of her attack and the injury to their leader distracted the men holding her momentarily. She tore herself free and snatched an unguarded dagger from one man's belt. She buried the blade into the man's gut before relieving him of his sword as well.

"Bitch! You'll pay for that!" She had drawn blood, which she spat back at the leader's face. The distraction also caused Raoul's captors to release their grasp on their prisoner to come to their leader's aid.

"Raoul, run!" Toni was holding them off the best she could with only the dagger and sword she had snatched.

"Not without you!"

"Then fight!" Toni kicked a sword from a fallen brigand in Raoul's direction. Fumbling, he snatched the weapon from the dirt. He skipped aside to avoid a deadly thrust from an opponent. Toni was moving back towards him. Their injuries put them at a disadvantage. There were six of them, not counting the man Toni had stabbed earlier. The wounded robber was rolling about in the dust screaming as blood bubbled from his wound. The remaining brigands had organized themselves and Toni and Raul were outmatched.

Suddenly, an arrow wheezed through the air and struck the eye of a brigand about cleave Raoul's head form his shoulders. A throwing knife hit another in the chest. Shouting their war-cry, the gypsies rushed into the fray from the hedgerows behind which they had been hiding. Clubs and axes were put to good use.

"Mama Rosa! Thank God!" Toni gasped. The gypsy woman cracked open a brigand's skull with her frying pan. The gypsies outnumbered the brigands and they fought fiercely. The skirmish was soon over and the dead robbers unceremoniously rolled off the road into a ditch.

"Thought you need some help, Toni…" Mama Rosa grinned. She turned to a stunned Raoul. "Boy, my advice to you is to marry her. You don't meet a girl like her every day. Now how about you come to our camp for the night, eh?"

There was blood. Raoul's stomach churned. It stained the dirt where the robbers had fallen. A few of the gypsies were scuffing out the marks of the skirmish and sweeping grit over the stains. Soon it would seem that no fight had occurred. The gypsies avoided trouble as a rule. One gypsy had gashed his arm in the fighting and was being treated by Mama Rosa. Raoul hurriedly turned away from the sight. He hoped he could not faint now, before Toni and her gypsy friends.

He met Toni's eyes. There was a trickle of blood running along one cheek. Heart thumping, he walked over to her. _He must not faint, must not faint…_

"Toni, y-you're hurt…" He reached up to wipe the blood from her face. It originated from a scratch under her hairline.

"It's just a scratch…" Toni replied. "Raoul… I…" Mama Rosa had thrown a shawl over her shoulders to preserve her modesty. Raoul thought she looked oddly fey.

"You're not fainting…"

"If I swoon now, it will be in awe of your beauty…" He fished the sketch of Antoinette out of his shirt. "You looked lovely with long hair…"

"Where did you get that?" Toni gasped.

"The hair will grow back, boy," Mama Rosa guffawed. "Now, what do you say to baked hedge-pig for supper?" The stew they were given was richly flavoured. They did not realise how hungry they were until they tucked in. Toni glanced up at the sky and realised how high the moon had risen. They were out late.

"We must get back to city!" Toni gasped. "Your father will be worried…"

"My father… That man would not care less if I were killed by brigands. Besides, the city gates are closed by now…" Raoul replied.

"Raoul, all fathers care for their children. I guess he must be searching for you now, with your godfather, Pothos…"

"Ah, my godfather! Oh dear, he'd be worried…" Raoul fretted.

"Wait till sunrise. They open the gates only at dawn," Mama Rosa advised. "Now, children, sleep and pleasant dreams…" She tossed two blankets to Toni.

* * *

><p>"Any luck?" Monsieur de Treville shook his head. The guards were not going to make an exception. He had to seek a letter from the Captain of the King's Guards before they would open the gate. If Raoul and Toni were caught outside the city walls, they would have to spend the night out. Marie scooped out the stew she had prepared for their dinner but none of them ate much. Only young Henri wolfed down his plateful before retiring for bed.<p>

"Raoul is a gentleman. He will never touch Toni…" Porthos tried to reassure D'Artagnan.

"That's not what I'm afraid of. Toni's so reckless. What if they run into brigands? What if…"

"Shush, there is nothing we can do but pray…"

"Prayers? Aramis, you were the one who started it…"

"Athos, you had to shout to Raoul's face he's a bastard and not your son!"

"D'Artagnan, what were you thinking letting your girl think you dead and come trotting over to Paris…"

"Gentlemen, stop!" M. de Treville coughed. "I'm going to bed and I would like to wake up tomorrow knowing that my four best musketeers are not leaping at each other's throats like a pack of wild dogs."

The four watched in silence as Marie assisted their former captain up the stairs to his bed chamber. As they left, the woman gave the four a look which stated more eloquently than words what she thought of their petty squabbling. Athos downed another glass of wine. They had wasted hours around Paris looking for the children while Cardinal Mazarin's plans ground closer to success.

"We need someone to infiltrate the conspirators… I'll do that since they approached me," the comte smiled grimly. "As for the cardinal and our missing prince…"

"Let me try trailing those three assassins…" Porthos volunteered. D'Artagnan was in no state to continue taking that risk. "No, let me," Aramis volunteered. Porthos' girth was unmistakeable. If anything went wrong, Aramis thought he had a better chance of escape.

"They're as slippery as eels. I do know that they like frequenting a certain pie shop on Rue de la Ameida. I've spoken to the old cook there once, before he had an accident at the river. Seems they used to bring a young cripple with them for the pies. My late colleague has also discovered that the cardinal has been slipping in extra orders for clothes from the king's tailors. He'd send a different servant to collect the clothes each time," D'Artagnan added.

"How loyal are these three to Mazarin?" Aramis laced his fingers and rested his chin on them thoughtfully.

"Well, I have little information on their backgrounds, but I will tell you what I do know. The leader is Michel. He has been with Mazarin the longest. Mazarin took an interest in Michel as a youngster, not long after the boy's father was executed for treason… He's the son of Charlot de Loupefort. De Loupefort had two sons but the younger one perished soon after their father's arrest. Mazarin vouched for the boy's entry into the guards. If Michel's father had not lost the title, he'd be as much a noble as you, Athos. Next is Rafael. He's from the other side of the Alps, possibly Florence or Milan. He's a defrocked priest thanks to some run-in with Rome's inquisitors. Not sure when Mazarin hired him on. He has a bit of a reputation as an assassin in the Parisian underworld. In addition to a sword, he is a skilled crossbowsman. The last one is Gabriel. Nothing much is known about him except that he is fearfully strong…"

"Pah, I'd like to see how strong he is…" Porthos cracked his knuckles.

"Well, gossip had it that he tore the head off a recruit in the barracks for insulting his cooking, _with his bare hands_…" D'Artagnan coughed. "He's about as tall and broad as you are, Porthos…"

"Does he have a belly like Porthos?" Athos asked. D'Artagnan shook his head. "Then I would strongly advise Porthos against wrestling with this Gabriel. Prince Philippe is with the three but I do not think they would harm him easily, since he is the key to their plan. But if Mazarin were forced, he might just give the order to…" Athos left his words hanging.

* * *

><p>"Michel! Gabriel! No! Rafael! No! Help! Murder!"<p>

Being trained soldiers, the trio were up and at the boy's bedside before he even awoke fully from the nightmare. Mazarin had pushed him exceedingly hard at his lessons earlier. The exhausted boy had fallen asleep in Gabriel's arms as the giant carried him up to his bed. It was a pity they could not go watch the play like they promised Philippe. The boy's bedclothes were sodden with sweat. Still sobbing, Philippe clung onto Michel for reassurance. Rafael hurried to get a posset of mulled wine with herbs to ensure a good night's rest. Gabriel busied himself fluffing the pillows.

"Thank God, you're alive… all of you…" Philippe gasped. "It was awful… I dreamt you were dead…"

"It's only a dream…" Michel cooed reassuringly and smoothed the sweat-drenched hair.

"But it was so real… There was blood all over the streets and in front of Notre Dame…" the boy shuddered violently at the memory.

"Drink this up. It'd keep the bad dreams away…" Rafael urged as he held the mulled wine to the boy's lips. The boy sipped the liquid carefully, for it was warm.

"Can you stay with me, please?" Philippe pleaded. The three assassins exchanged silent glances.

"Don't see why not." Michel shrugged and climbed in beside the boy. He had done that for his own little brother when he had nightmares. He wrapped his arms around the boy so that Philippe's head was cushioned against his shoulder. Gabriel left the room briefly and returned with blankets and pillows. He curled up on the floor at the foot of the bed while Rafael settled down in the armchair beside the bed with his feet on the footstool.

"Thank you…" Philippe whispered softly as the soothing posset took effect. Soon he was fast asleep, snuggled up against his older friend.

**Author's Notes: **

Mama Rosa and her gypsies have to rescue Toni and Raoul. Raoul is fighting to overcome his phobia of blood. It would be a major blow to his pride if he faints in front of some gypsies. Hopefully, the musketeers don't get side-tracked again. I doubt the Archangels will harm a hair on Philippe's head.


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer – 3 Musketeers and the characters belong to Alexander Dumas pere.

More interactions between Toni and Raoul. Athos to attend a meeting of conspirators? And Porthos crosses paths with an assassin. Revised.

**Chapter 16**

_A glade outside Paris city walls_

It was Raoul who awoke first. He found himself lying on a pile of blankets upon the floor of the small caravan belonging to Mama Rosa. They had been sleeping out under the stars, until a shower came down on them. The gypsies then piled into their caravans before they got utterly drenched. His heart skipped a beat when he saw Toni's face bare inches from his. Toni smiled at some pleasant dream. Raoul felt content to lie there watching. Then something butted into Raoul's back hard so that he was shoved bodily forward. His lips pressed unintentionally against Toni's. Her eyes fluttered open…

"AAAHHHHH!" A resounding slap followed the scream.

Mama Rosa glanced up from stirring the breakfast pot over the fire. Her startled goat, who had butted their guest and started the whole commotion, hopped out of the caravan bleating her indignation. She was followed by Raoul.

"I didn't mean it!" Raoul protested as he rubbed his sore cheek. The shirt Raoul had been given to wear was too large for him and left much of his chest exposed, to the delighted giggled of a knot of gypsy women packing nearby. He tripped on the too-loose breeches and ended up landing among a pile of rugs and pans the women were packing. The women laughed and helped Raoul to his feet.

"He kissed me!" Toni emerged from the caravan, wiping her lips with the back of her hand. She was wearing a long smock which ended at her bare knees.

"I didn't mean to. I'm sorry!" Attracted by the commotion, the other gypsies gathered round curiously. Raoul's good looks had not gone unnoticed by them and speculation on the nature of his relationship with was rife. Especially since it transpired that they were both lying in a ditch…

"You gotta marry her, then…" the youngest gypsy child announced seriously and hugged her ragdoll. The others roared with laughter at the little innocent's remark.

"No way!" both Raoul and Toni exclaimed.

Mama Rosa chuckled. The young people were acting like an old married couple. She wondered if a wedding was on the cards for the pair in the near future. She would love to read their palms, but that would be to tempt fate. She liked Raoul so far. He had an honest enough face. She hit the side of her pot with her spoon thrice.

"Come and get your porridge!" she called the young people and her family over for breakfast. Toni's gypsy friends would probably tease the pair throughout the meal.

* * *

><p><em>Monsieur de Treville's house…<em>

"D'Artaganan, you can't possibly ride in your condition," Aramis shook his head as he inspected his comrade's wounds. There were signs of infection setting in. D'Artagnan had torn them open again. More worryingly, his forehead was too hot. D'Artagnan tried to stand up but his head was swimming too much. He fell forward into Aramis' arms. "Listen to my advice and rest. I'm sure Porthos and Athos will find them…" Aramis coaxed as he steered the patient back to bed.

Monsieur de Treville had been right in sending Marie for him when they found his guest burning with a fever. Aramis had sufficient medical knowledge to deal with D'Artagnan's injuries. A physician might be tempted to talk and reveal D'Artagnan's whereabouts. The last thing they needed was for D'Artagnan's enemies to visit de Treville's home. No one was risking riding the cankerous Cher Ami. Raoul's Bon-Bon had apparently gone lame from the hard riding of the day before. Athos had procured two horses for Aramis and Porthos. Both of which, unfortunately, did not bear up well under Porthos' weight. A disgruntled Porthos was left with no option but to go about on foot.

Athos had ridden out to search the countryside outside the city walls for the missing youngsters. Porthos opted to continue their search within the city. Aramis' steed was tethered in the yard, ready for him to ride out and aid Athos… He paused in the midst of dressing D'Artagnan's wounds. _If they found Raoul, what could he say to him? Acknowledge him as his son? Or perhaps Athos might save him that dilemma by forcing him on the road to Lorraine or Rome and away from Raoul. _

"Aramis?" D'Artagnan's voice snapped him back to the present. Apologizing, he finished binding up D'Artagnan's arm. "I'm sure Athos will forgive you," the younger man continued. "He may be a grumpy old bear at times but…"

"I cheated on him with his wife and Raoul might be my bastard… I don't see how he's ever going to forgive me for that…"

"Poor Athos never had much luck with women. His late wife was not exactly a paragon of faithfulness and Milady… Well, as for Raoul, I'm sure Athos will continue treating him as a son, after all…"

"Athos has some difficulties with his son over his career choice. Boy wants to go into the theatre. Well, I guess I better get going…" Aramis finished putting away the ointment and bandages.

* * *

><p><em>A highway outside Paris… <em>

Athos was riding out on the highway leading into the countryside when he was accosted by his less-than-welcome neighbour. Gerard waved heartily from his coach. "Morning, Olivier! Are you going to the meeting at Versailles too? Francois has made arrangements with the inn-keeper… His cook whips up the most delicious game pies., just what we need to discuss our plans over…" Athos winced inwardly at the man's utter lack of guile. Thankfully, the bustling peddlers and peasants on the road were too preoccupied with their own business to care about plotters. Athos pulled up beside the coach in an easy stroll.

"Comte, it is best you not blab so openly of our business to all and sundry…" _Let Gerard the Fool think that Comte de la Fere has tossed his lot in with the conspirators. _Raoul and Toni would have to take care of themselves for now. Aramis and Porthos would be looking for them as well. "We'll go together…" Athos turned his horse towards the town of Versailles. He did not spot the pair he had been searching for headed his way, lost among the throng of travellers on the road.

* * *

><p>Both Raoul and Toni trudged in through the city gates lost among the crowd of market peddlers and carters bringing in their wares from the outlying farms. Their clothes were a little grimy and mended in places by Mama Rosa's needle. There had been insufficient time for a decent laundering. The gypsy caravans were leaving Paris for the next stop on their annual circuit. It was Aramis who spotted the pair.<p>

"Raoul! Toni! Thank god! Are you hurt in any way?" he called out as he wound his way through the crowd towards them. Raoul spotted the abbe. His face darkened and he made as if to storm over to meet him.

"You scoundrel!" Raoul growled. His hands clenched into fists by his sides.

"Raoul, that's no way to speak to a priest…" Toni warned and grabbed hold of Raoul's elbow. The village priest back home in Gascony was a mild-tempered, somewhat absent-minded old scholar of a man and Toni could not comprehend anyone being rude to him or any other man of the cloth.

"This is no discussion for women- OW!" Raoul yelped when Toni stomped on his foot. Aramis had gotten entangled with a pair of apprentice-boys carrying a large roasted hog. Apologising, the abbe sidestepped the pair, only to get caught up in a funeral procession.

"What do you mean by that, Raoul?" Toni hissed a warning. "I mean it's personal business between me and him…" Raoul started.

"I mean what 'women's business'? You're not going to tell him I'm female, and don't treat me any differently," Toni warned. Aramis had extricated himself from the procession and was fast approaching them.

"Toni, your father…" Aramis started once he caught up.

"Don't you dare speak of fathers!" Raoul snarled. Aramis clammed up immediately at the vehemence in his voice.

"Wait! My father? You have news of my father?" Toni blurted. _Dare she hope? _

"Toni, your father is at Monsieur de Treville's. He is injured and I think it is best you see him…" Aramis fidgeted under the glare Raoul was giving him. But Raoul would not cause a scene in the street, would he?

Toni gasped in shock. Papa still lived! "Thank God and the Virgin…" the tears of relief came freely and she made a valiant effort to wipe them away.

"Monsieur Aramis… how is my father faring?" A thought just occurred to her. _Did they know the truth?_ Aramis smiled. "Mademoiselle, your father is abed with the wound fever when I left him. You may wish to move to Monsieur de Treville's to be close to him… Madame Marie has informed us that she has more than enough room in the house for another guest. Also, Monsieur de Treville strongly feels it would be improper for an unaccompanied young lady to share a roof with three unrelated men…"

Toni gasped. Her father must have told them. Raoul could not resist dropping a bow. "My lady, shall we?"

He was not going to make a scene in front of the city gates. Perhaps later… he glared at Aramis and wondered what possessed his mother to take a priest as her lover even if he were good-looking. Then again, her taste in men was always dubious to start with.

* * *

><p>Porthos held young Henri up so that he could reach out and touch the dragon on the sign of the <em>Dragon Cookhouse<em>. Confined indoors, Henri was often underfoot. Burdened with caring for two patients, Marie had foisted her offspring onto the gentle giant Henri took a liking to. "Dead. The dragon's dead!" Henri giggled and slapped the sign. Porthos laughed and lowered his charge down so that they might partake of the aromatic meat pies the cook's boy was bringing out.

Porthos decided that Raoul and Toni were perfectly able to take care of themselves, even if their horses did run away. If some mishap had occurred to them outside the city walls, Athos would find them sooner mounted on a horse. It could do no one any harm if he and Henri took some time out from their stroll to eat some pies. He had ordered a pair of pies…_ Ah, here comes the boy now… _Porthos reached out to grab the pies but the other customer next to him was faster.

Gabriel snatched both pies off the platter with one hand and paid the boy generously with the other. The boy darted in for another order.

"Hey!" Porthos protested. "Those were our pies!" The giants squared each other up. Porthos was impressed by the other man's size. He was tall enough to look Porthos in the eye, which he did. Porthos glanced at the man's built. He had the shoulders of an ox. Porthos also noted that the man was a good fifteen years his junior and in peak physical condition. No paunch there. He was simply dressed in a doublet and breeches, both unadorned with any embroidery or lace. He could have passed for a workman if it were not for that sword strapped to his side.

Porthos pondered his chances should he challenge the man. Gabriel also weighed his chances. Sensing a pending fisticuff in the air, the other customers either fled indoors or craned their heads from the windows according to their temperaments. Porthos was vaguely aware of Henri tugging at his sleeve, ill at ease with the tension. He decided to step down.

"Let them have the pies, please, Gabriel… I'm not that hungry…" a soft voice called out. The owner of that voice was a pale youth seated on a bench under the chestnut tree. A pair of crutches lay next to him. Gabriel gave a throaty belly laugh and handed the pies to young Henri. Porthos had to help the boy hold the pies before they dropped into the dust. The large man then went to sit with his young friend.

"T-thank you…" Henri called out. "C-come sit with us!"

"No, may we join you, please?" Porthos hurriedly added when he saw Philippe pick up his crutches. Philippe nodded. Gabriel scowled slightly when Porthos and Henri approached them but he yielded to Philippe's whim for the youngster's company. Rafael and Michel were out on their patrol duties and Gabriel was reluctant to leave Philippe unattended. Normally, he would have cooked them breakfast but their larder was bare apart from a slice of slate bread well past edibility. Thus he was forced to bring his ward to the public cookhouse.

The cook's boy soon returned with two more pies and a jug of ale. When they were done eating, Philippe and Henri, both innocents, one from his sheer youth, the other from his sheltered life, were soon playing a game of knucklebones. Rafael had taught Philippe that game and now Philippe was teaching Henri the rules amidst smiles and laughter. Their guardians watched on cautiously.

"Your son?" Gabriel grunted as he took a gulp of his ale.

"Nope, but I know his mother…" Porthos replied as he emptied his tankard. He smiled at the thought of the toothsome Marie. He really should consider finding a wife like her to brighten his days and warm his nights with.

"Bright lad…" Gabriel rubbed his chin-stubble thoughtfully. Perhaps Philippe needed someone closer to his age, a child, to keep him company. Or they could make do with a puppy, a well-behaved one.

"Your brother is a good teacher…"

"The pup's not my brother," Gabriel smiled with almost paternal pride. He was too dissimilar from Philippe for them to be mistaken for brothers. Perhaps they should be getting home before the other two were done with their patrol, or worse, the cardinal calls on them. He called out to his charge. Philippe ended the game and pocketed the bones.

**Author's Notes: **

The next chapter is also due for a re-write.

Athos is off on a little adventure of his own for now. The tension between Aramis and his purported son Raoul is still unresolved for now. Who are we kidding? Raoul is definitely Athos'.


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer – 3 Musketeers and the characters belong to Alexander Dumas pere.

Toni is reunited with her father. Athos meets some conspirators. Rewritten

**Chapter 17**

De Treville was on his feet despite his cold. The look on his weary face was one of concern. Marie glanced up from sponging D'Artagnan's brow. The fever was dangerously high. A doctor was bleeding him in an attempt to balance the humours. Aramis recognised him as one of those who tended to the King's Musketeers in their heyday. He could not help snorting in disgust at the sight of the small bowl of blood drawn. Surely D'Artagnan has lost more than enough blood over the past days going by how pale he was. The doctor was not particularly known for his skills back then and clearly the man had not improved over the years. Raoul made a muffled sound, went pale and fled the room at the sight of the doctor's bloodied lancet.

"Papa!" Toni shouted and rushed to his bedside. His good eye was too bright. She wept to see that the other eye was a dim orb marred by a cloudy film.

"Constance? Is that you? Why the tears?" D'Artagnan moaned. "What have they done to your hair?" His hand reached out to her and she took it in her hands.

"Papa, it's me, Toni…" Toni wondered if she could reach him in the throes of his delirium. All she received were inaudible murmurs of distress. It was useless. D'Artagnan's eyelids slid close but the laboured rise and fall of his chest reassured the watchers he was still alive. Toni buried her face in the blankets and wept angry tears at her own helplessness.

"I've prescribed some ointment for his wounds and herbs for his fever…" the physician said. There was a slight tremor in the man's voice, the same one he always had when pronouncing one of de Treville's musketeers in dire need of a priest's rites rather than a doctor.

"Will he live?" de Treville asked. He stroked Toni's hair reassuringly with his good hand.

"The infection has set in and if the wounds go bad…" the doctor added grimly and left it hanging. "The patient is no longer young. If the fever breaks by tonight, it is likely he will live… I cannot guarantee anything more, messieurs…" the doctor accepted his fee from Marie and took his leave.

"Marie, I must go out on some business… please take care of D'Artagnan and Toni," Monsieur de Treville announced as he took his cloak and hat. He did not notice the tension between Aramis and Raoul when he passed them in the corridor. Aramis had been ordered to bring a fresh basin of water to the sickroom by Marie, just as Raoul was emerging from the parlour where he had fled earlier to. Raoul was less than pleased at his unmanly show of fear, even more so that Aramis was around to witness it.

* * *

><p><em>Upstairs room in an inn in the town of Versailles. <em>

"You convinced Olivier de la Fere to join us? Well, well…" Captain Francois studied the newcomer and his cousin with interest. The conspirators have all gathered in the private rooms of the inn. "All for the good of France," Athos said solemnly as he touched the brim of his hat.

"For the good of France and His Majesty," Francois reiterated. "Rest assured we do not intend to harm a single hair on his royal head." Athos sidestepped a serving boy with refreshments for the meeting. The windows had been left open for both light and air. Serving boys and wenches moved freely through the open door with platters of sweetmeats and ale.

"Gentlemen, how do we propose to do that?" Athos feigned innocence. It was laughable how the conspirators were so utterly careless. No doubt Marazin was setting the stage for a future purge of his enemies within the court. Francois' smile died on his lips and he motioned the servants out. _Perhaps Francois was not so much a fool as his cousin. _He dropped his voice to a whisper.

"When His Majesty visits Paris, there will be an attempt on his person by a band of Protestant dissenters…"

"Really? Where do we get those? The Bastille?" someone called out. He sounded drunk despite the early hour. "Hired assassins from England," Francois did not miss a beat.

"It's too risky… what if he were to be killed…" It was the Marquis de Bretville. The pale-faced man looked uncertain. The mention of the dreaded prison had unsettled a number of the attendees.

"He will not be. My guards will be there to protect him and kill those dissenters…" Francois sounded too confident for Athos' liking. _A foolhardy young man._

"So the thankful king will grant you any boon…" Athos said quietly. "And perhaps he will be more willingly to heed the advice of Cardinal Mazarin and the court…" The tone in which he had uttered the cardinal's name did not go unnoticed.

"Look here, la Fere… I'm no friend of the cardinal but he has kept us from war with Spain and England thus far…" a baron spoke. Athos noticed an empty chair next to the baron, and a bottle of red wine. He sat down next to the man. "I agree…" Athos took up the open bottle and helped himself to a swig. He knew little enough of Queen Anne's stand on the diplomatic front. The cardinal's interests, thus far, have all been aligned with the kingdom's interests. He put the bottle down.

"Gentlemen, we need your cooperation as some of you will be in his entourage…" the captain unfurled a map of Paris. "It is too open here to put our plans in action. We need an excuse for the royal coach to be here at the side gate…" Athos forced himself to concentrate on the map and the discussion instead of the wine bottle which was so tantalisingly close within his reach. Chaos, bloodshed, mayhem on the streets of Paris threatened.

* * *

><p>"Where's Athos?" Porthos asked. "He's not back yet," Marie replied. "Let me have Henri. It is time for his nap…" she took her young son into her arms.<p>

D'Artagnan's condition was worrisome indeed. The womenfolk were busy trying to cool his fever. Porthos noticed that de Treville was not around either and prayed he would be safe without him or Aramis there to protect him.

"Now we all know Toni's a girl, what do you propose to do, Porthos? It was not proper for her to continue sleeping under your roof," Marie continued. Never mind if she had already spent a few nights under Porthos' roof without incident.

"But nothing has happened so far. I promise you that Toni's virtue is safe with me and Aramis…"

"That skirt-chasing priest? Porthos, I'm sure Toni would like to keep her father company… go get her things please," Marie purred. "Also, it might be good time for you to talk to your godson, before anything regrettable happens." She nodded to where Raoul was glaring at Aramis' back in a manner uneasily like Athos before a famous burst of temper. Porthos' worst fears were confirmed a fraction of a second later when Raoul clapped his hand on Aramis' shoulder spun him around and slapped the hapless priest with a leather glove.

"Duel." Raoul snapped and shoved Aramis against a china cabinet hard enough to send the dishes within rattling.

"Raoul! Are you out of your mind? You can't duel with him," Porthos dove forward to separate the would-be combatants.

"Why?" Raoul hissed.

"B-because duelling is illegal…" It was a weak reason and Porthos knew it but he was not going to broach the matter of Raoul's paternity. Raoul growled under his breath. Marie made use of the distraction to whisk Aramis to the safety of the kitchen. Porthos prayed Aramis would not accept the challenge. Raoul's skill with a sword was horribly wanting. Raoul bit his lower lip hard enough to draw blood. Porthos sighed. It hurt to see his godson in such pain. He was like a bow string pulled too taut. Sooner or later, he would snap. If he did so at Athos, it would be a disaster given the pair's infamous temperaments.

"Come, we have some things to attend to," Porthos put his arm around the young man's shoulders and steered him towards the door.

* * *

><p>Planchet had yet to return from his sister's. The chores were starting to fall behind in Porthos' house. Dirty dishes were stacked in the kitchen and more alarmingly, the larder was bare. Porthos ruefully admitted that he missed the man and his cooking. Dirty clothes were strewn over his room. Somehow, Aramis had managed to retain some semblance of cleanliness in his room despite the servant's absence. The stairs creaked dangerously under Porthos' bulk but they held up when they headed for Toni's room. Toni's room was nearly spotless. Porthos was amused to notice a feminine touch in the form of some fading wildflowers in a jug on the dresser.<p>

Raoul swept Toni's hand mirror and hairbrush off the dresser into the saddle bag he was holding. Porthos glanced cautiously at his godson. "Raoul, about…"

"Did you know? About my mother? That man now has a legitimate reason to disown me! Well, let him! I don't care about his damned titles…" Raoul flung his arm out, carelessly knocking the jug of flowers over onto the floor.

"Raoul! That's foolish talk! Your father will never disown you… He's just upset because he does not think the theatre is a proper…"

"My father? Maybe my real father is that defrocked priest, or perhaps some stable-hand Mama took a fancy to. The comte feels I embarrass him! Some vicomte I am, swooning like some girl at the sight of blood… Too much of a coward to…"

"Raoul!" Porthos bellowed. "Goddamn it! But you're not a coward and I know it. And you are his son and have been since you were born!"

"The month I was born in… My so-called father was nowhere near my mother when…"

"You were born early, Raoul. So your father got the months mixed up… We saw you a good two months later… Such a tiny little thing you were." But Raoul was already halfway down the stairs.

Porthos sighed and closed his eyes. Raoul inherited Athos' stubbornness. There was no talking sense into him once he set his mind on something. There was no doubt in his godfather's mind that Raoul was indeed Athos' son.

Looking back, Porthos wondered if the late Comtess was to blame for the wedge between father and son. The couple barely tolerated each other only for the purpose of producing an heir. Athos' work as a musketeer and later his assignment to the diplomatic corps kept him away from his family. When he eventually returned to his estates, the Comtess found some excuse to keep father and son apart, either bringing Raoul to visit relatives or friends. _Raoul's phobia of blood?_ Poor boy was probably embarrassed of his weakness, perhaps even more so than Athos was.

"God give me strength to get him through this…" Porthos murmured wearily. Athos had reacted badly to Milady's betrayal by going into a self-destructive spiral before D'Artagnan's arrival in Paris yanked him out of it. He did not know if Raoul would be likely to follow his father's footsteps and drown his sorrows in drink.

* * *

><p>De Treville waited at the <em>Wyvern Tavern<em>. He had managed to contact one of his former fencing students now employed in the guards. Andre was a mediocre swordsman but he was an honest man loyal to his duty. Andre was guarded initially. De Treville's reputation had suffered much since those rumours about his school started. Eventually, the man agreed to meet him after his patrol. It was getting late and the old captain wondered if he had decided to stand him up.

"You shouldn't meddle so, old man…" The voice held an edge of icy steel every bit as real as that pressing into the small of his back. De Treville did not need to turn to know who was speaking.

"What have you done to him?"

"Nothing, I regret to say Andre Fawett is a little indisposed. He'll live, eventually," Michel grinned wolfishly at the thought of the poor guard he and Rafael had confronted behind the tavern. Three broken ribs and a fractured leg would keep him in the infirmary for a month at least. There was something he needed to ask de Treville. They had overheard a doctor mentioning a one-eyed patient he had attended to in de Treville's house. That man could only be…

"You have a man under your roof- D'Artagnan… We're looking for him," de Treville tensed. His good left hand twitched unconsciously for his weapon.

"No sudden moves, old man. You do not wish your daughter to lose her father…"

"I-I have no daughter…"

"Oops, my mistake. You call her niece, don't you? Idle talk aside, old man. D'Artagnan. What does he know and what has he told you?"

"There's no D'Artagnan under my roof. Leave us be," de Treville lied through his teeth. The old wound on his right wrist was starting to itch. He still remembered that amber-eyed swordsman who had challenged him before his students, then maimed him so cruelly. That same man now held a blade to his back. De Treville swallowed and waited for the dagger to be driven into his kidney. _Nothing._ Cautiously, he turned. Michel had gone. Only a few idle customers lounged about, unaware. De Treville knew he had to warn D'Artagnan, and order both Marie and Henri away from Paris.

Michel watched from the shadows of an alley outside as de Treville hastened out. The old man was a lousy liar. D'Artagnan must have as any lives as a cat to survive his encounter with Rafael. Perhaps he had been hiding at de Treville's all this time. It was certainly no sentimental reason which drove de Treville to meet with Andre, or any of his former students. Things were moving quickly now.

* * *

><p><em>Versailles<em>

Anne fidgeted, restless with worry. Her thoughts were miles from the play they were watching. D'Artagnan had failed to send back word like he had promised. _Where was Philippe? Was he safe?_ Her eyes darted to the red blur which was the cardinal. _What had he done to her son? _

"Mother, are you well?" Louis asked and took her hand in his. Anne forced herself to smile and nod. She had to trust D'Artagnan.

"Perhaps a stay by the sea in the south… an airship will be a most comfortable way to travel. We can leave in the morning," the king suggested. He waved at the actors to order them to stop the play and dismissed them. Anne shook her head. She knew her son did not only have her best interests at heart, but was also desperate to avoid the planned trip to Paris.

"After the visit to Paris, Your Majesty. We must not disappoint the people of Paris. They have been looking forward to this for a long time."

**Author's Notes: **

Bloodletting was a common medical procedure in Europe until the late 19th century. The aim is to balance the humours. Poor Raoul's having some inner conflict over his parentage.

De Treville has some secrets of his own.


	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer – 3 Musketeers and the characters belong to Alexander Dumas pere.

**Chapter 18**

After delivering Toni's belongings to de Treville's house, Porthos took to the streets in pursuit of his godson. He finally found Raoul drowning his sorrows in the theatre after a thorough search of the city taverns and watering holes. The other actors were more than happy to entrust him to his godfather. It had been disastrous night for them with their playwright in no state to play his minor role in the play. Being short of actors, they had forced him onto the stage only to have him fall over his own feet and mess up his lines. They had heard of the comte's threat to disown the vicomte through Raoul's drunken mumbling. The loss of funds from the estate was even more worrying. _Who would purchase them the props and costumes for their plays now?_ Raoul was known for being free with his coins.

Porthos rented a horse and tossed his unconscious godson over its back like a sack of grain. It was an undignified way of travel but Porthos was in no mood to carry Raoul himself. His knees protested the hours of trudging through the streets. On reaching home, he was pleased to see Planchet back. In a foul temper, he yelled at the servant to help Raoul to his bed. Raoul would pay for his over-indulgence in wine with a hangover come morning. The irony struck Porthos that despite Raoul's often deriding his father's drinking habits, he had resorted to wine in very much the same manner Athos did.

"Would Monsieur like ham and bread? Or a tankard?" Planchet ventured timidly. Porthos waved his servant away. He had no appetite for supper.

* * *

><p>D'Artagnan's fever finally broke in the wee hours of the morning. His eyelids fluttered open. He was surprised, and pleasantly, so to find his daughter gently dozing with her head resting a finger-length from his hand. He reached out despite the protests he elicited from his wounds. He ruffled her hair. His daughter yawned and rubbed sleep from her eyes.<p>

"I'm sorry, Toni…" he whispered hoarsely. Toni's eyes opened and looked straight at him as if she could not believe what she was seeing.

"P-papa!" she gasped and held his hand in hers. She turned to the door to call the others.

"W-wait…" D'Artagnan grabbed her wrist. He had so much he wanted to say to her first. "Toni… I'm sorry I did not go to you sooner… sorry I made you worry…"

"Papa…" Toni swallowed. She looked odd with her hair cropped short. She was wearing a man's shirt and breeches.

"I understand, Papa… It was your duty to the king…" Toni hiccupped as the tears came too readily to her eyes, but they were those of joy. Her father reached up to wipe her tears with his hand. "Hush…" For now he just wanted to hold his child and thank Heaven for being able to be with her.

* * *

><p>Below, Aramis wondered if he should simply return to Porthos', get his meagre belongings and take to the road. He was not sure he could face Athos or Raoul, ever… Yet the threat to the king… <em>No, the others can handle it without his aid. <em>He tossed on his moth-eaten cloak and strode to the door. He opened it and found himself face-to-face with Athos.

"A-Athos… I…" he started.

"Not now, Aramis…" Athos growled. "We have no time to waste… I must be back at Versailles before noon." What he had learnt at Versailles was shocking indeed. He had ridden through the night with little regard for the dangers of the road. Thankfully, the sole guard awake at the city gate had mistaken him for some royal messenger and allowed him into the city before curfew broke. Every bone in Athos' body protested at the exertion it had been subjected to. _And God, he needed a drink now._

Rafael swore under his breath. Michel had been right in setting them to watch the de Treville house. The arrival of the horseman could only bode ill for their plans. The cardinal had summoned Michel to his offices and their discussion had gone on well into the night. De Treville and his guests must be dealt with. Rafael sprinted off as noiselessly as he could.

* * *

><p>"Next Sunday His Majesty and the Queen Dowager will attend Mass at Notre Dame…" Athos announced. "The conspirators intend to set off a bomb and blame it on some hired Protestant dissenters. It is as you have feared, D'Artagnan." He paused to look at D'Artagnan. D'Artagnan had insisted on attending the discussion despite his condition. Toni hovered protectively nearby like a mother hen. "I have managed to convince the conspirators that I am one of them. However, their intent is not so much as to harm His Majesty as to bring him to his senses. Misguided fools…"<p>

"They say the Cardinal can be very charming and convincing with his words…" Monsieur de Treville admitted ruefully. There was no time to get Porthos to join their discussion. Aramis seemed more interested staring at his own boots instead of discussing any measures they could take to protect the king and his mother. In fact, the abbe seemed to be a thousand miles away.

"Aramis!" Athos snapped. Aramis started. Both men's eyes met for a fraction of a second before Aramis looked away.

"Aramis. We need you to go to Rue Ste Celestine at daylight and see if there is any way we can divert the carriage before the ambush… Other matters can wait. I'll send word to Porthos' in two days' time. I must be going." Athos finished his wine and rose to his feet.

"Leave here by the back door. I fear we might be watched…" de Treville added. Athos shrugged. If they were watched, the watchers would have seen him ride up through the only gate big enough to admit a mounted horseman. D'Artagnan got up and strolled over to the door. He cautiously peered out into the darkness through the peephole. He wondered if the Cardinal's lackeys have caught onto his whereabouts yet. All was quiet. _Almost too quiet._

"Take care and God go with you, Athos," de Treville clapped Athos on the shoulder as the count tied on his cloak. The first grey streaks of dawn were starting to appear in the east. Aramis wanted to call out a farewell but the words stuck in his mouth. Athos shook hands with D'Artagnan, de Treville and Toni. He ignored Aramis as he pushed past him. With a clatter of hooves, he was gone. They had only a week to thwart the cardinal's plans now.

D'Artagnan turned to his former captain. "Monsieur, I cannot impose on you any longer… but it is not safe that I linger here…" He did not want to endanger his family friend. A bleary-eyed Henri tottered into the hall. "I have rooms elsewhere in the city… but I would like Toni to remain…"

"I understand," de Treville nodded as young Henri tugged at his sleeve, still yawning. "Toni can stay with us…"

"But Papa! Your wounds…" Toni protested. "At least let me come with you…"

"No, Toni. I want you to be safe," D'Artagnan replied. Things were getting too risky. He could not let his daughter be put in further danger.

"Papa, I want you to be safe too." She placed a hand on his elbow to restrain him.

"No more arguments, Toni, please. You stay here with Monsieur de Treville…"

"Papa, please let me decide where I want to stay. I'm not a little girl anymore…" Toni protested to no avail. Her father shook her hand off his elbow and pulled on his worn-out cloak.

"Papa!" Toni protested.

"Toni, stop being wilful. I'm your father and you must obey my instructions! This is not work for a woman…" D'Artagnan insisted. Their eyes met for a moment.

* * *

><p>Michel groaned inwardly at Rafael's news. The old man had to be dealt with, and D'Artagnan too. The cardinal would not be pleased if anything were to ruin his plans. They were still in his bad books for their failure to kill or capture D'Artagnan. The assassin was starting to feel the stirrings of a huge headache. As was his habit, he took a fist-sized chunk of wood and started whittling. Soon the wood took on the likeness of a howling wolf. The headache was long forgotten and the vague outlines of a plan took shape.<p>

"Michel!" The boy's voice rent the air, intruding on his thoughts. The knife slipped and sliced into his thumb. Blood stained the pale wood. He popped his wounded thumb into his mouth to suck at the wound. Philippe would only get upset if he saw him hurt. He dropped the wolf onto the mantelpiece.

"How do I look?" the boy clumsily spun round. He was not using his crutch. Of course. He must be practising walking without it to please his dear Father. Philippe was dressed in a suit of velvet and lace which Michel was sure was a copy of the king's own clothes. The likeness was startling. It was only the boy's messy hair and trusting manner that betrayed him as Philippe.

"Very nice," Michel managed a smile before the cardinal joined them.

"Come, your lessons await…" Mazarin gripped Philippe by his wrist and steered him back to the study. Michel could only glare at the cardinal's back. He returned his attentions to his carving. A streak of red marked the wolf's snout as if it had been feeding. Michel nodded to himself. They needed to do something fast about D'Artagnan and de Treville, for Philippe's sake.

* * *

><p>"Is it true? The comte has disowned you? And set you out in the streets with only the clothes on your back?"<p>

"And that your real father's a priest?"

"Wow, this sounds like one of those fancy Italian dramas!"

If Raoul had expected to find sympathy or understanding from his fellow troupe members, he was sorely mistaken. He had exhausted his remaining funds on wine the day before and did not feel like requesting aid from his godfather so soon. He had shown up at the theatre to find the troupe making plans to move to another town after failing to secure more plays at the theatre. The _Merry Widow_ was now passé and the audience was not likely to be interested in plays by some dead Englishman. Raoul's plays were way too ambitious and called for huge funds to be expended on props and costumes, funds which the troupe now lacked. Fighting off a hangover, he glared daggers at them.

That did little to stop japes and none-too-subtle innuendos about lusty noblewomen and wayward priests as they packed their props. "Everyone loves a play where the nobles and the clergy misbehaves," Jacques observed and immediately started off on a popular ballad about a knight, his lady and the priest who was to marry them but ended up being caught with the bride in a compromising position.

The final straw came when a tailor whose services they had hired for their fancy costumes came to collect his fees. Raoul had exhausted his credit with the man. It took the actors pooling together their savings, meagre as they were, to persuade the man not to set the debt-collectors on Raoul. They did not want to see their playwright in prison.

Thoroughly depressed, Raoul returned to his godfather's to find Porthos out. Planchet did not question when he took two bottles of wine from the kitchens. It was not unlike Porthos' godson to help himself to his godfather's pantry. He retreated to the stables for some quiet. Bon Bon was there, nickering and rubbing her nose against his hand. But she was not the only one.

"Oh, hullo…" Raoul plopped down on a pile of hay, uncorked a bottle and lifted it to his lips. Toni was working on Cher Ami's hooves with a hoof pick.

"I thought you're here to groom Bon Bon. Her coat's a mess…" Toni muttered. Inside, she was still fuming at her father's too-casual dismissal of her aid. Tending to her horse always calmed her down

"Why do I need to do that when Planchet can do it for me? It's not as though Bon Bon is out to kill whoever gets too close, unlike your pony…"

"You should take care of the horse you ride…" Toni wiped sweat off her brow. She was still clad in her manly attire. It was annoying to learn that Cher Ami had been stabled at Porthos' with Bon Bon as no one wanted to risk irking the stallion by separating him from his lady-love. It pained her that her father insisted she not meddling in whatever plot he was going to foil. It was not work for a woman… he had said. Even though she saw the regret in his face the moment the words were out, it was too late. _Hadn't he taught her to fence as if she were a son and not a daughter? Hadn't she been taught to read and write above any woman of her station? Hadn't he allowed her to ride about in breeches as if she were a boy? _Despite his clumsy apology, the hurt was still simmering within her.

"Give me that bottle. I'm thirsty…" Toni held out her hand to Raoul. He handed her the half-full wine bottle. She took a swallow of the wine and sat down on the straw beside Raoul.

**Author's Notes: **

More problems for Raoul. His actor buddies aren't too thoughtful, are they? A temporary truce between Aramis and Athos.


	19. Chapter 19

Disclaimer – 3 Musketeers and the characters belong to Alexander Dumas pere.

**Chapter 19**

"Really? Your mother dismissed the fencing instructor and used his fee to hire a dance instructor?" Toni chuckled. She was feeling light-headed from the wine. The wine was all gone now and there was little to do but chat.

"It was his fault for ruining the tapestry in our hall. So I can't fence to save my life but I am an excellent dancer… Allow me to demonstrate…" Raoul got to his feet and offered his hand to Toni. She laughed and placed her hand in his, allowing him to pull her onto her feet. Clumsily she tried to follow his steps but Raoul was not too steady on his feet either. "It's one, two, three… and…" Toni stumbled over her feet. Raoul caught her about the waist.

"I guess my papa never taught me to dance," Toni grinned. Their faces were bare inches apart… For a moment they looked into each other's eyes. _Dare they?_ Raoul leaned forward and caught her lips with his. She did not protest or push him away. She leaned into his embrace… Their bodies seemed to mould to each other as if they were always…

The clatter of a pail startled them into breaking their passionate kiss. It was Planchet and the poor man's eyes were the size of pigeon eggs. "I didn't see nothing!" the servant squeaked like a rat and backed out.

"Do you think we better explain? Or go see if my godfather is back?" Raoul murmured.

"I think it can wait…" Toni leaned forward. Feeling daring, she started teasing him with light kisses along his jawline. The horses barely batted their eyelids when their owners flopped onto the pile of straw.

* * *

><p>"Planchet? You look as if you have seen a ghost…" Porthos muttered as he warmed his feet by the fire. His footstool creaked dangerously when he rested his full weight on it. "Well, spit it out!"<p>

"Master Raoul- Master Toni- kissing in the stables!" Planchet squeaked. Porthos blinked once before broke out into a guffaw of laughter. "Go make us some dinner… I'll call them in, later…" He would have to tell Planchet the truth about Antoinette… _later._ He was enjoying the shocked and bewildered look on man's face too much for now. _Ah, young love…_ The former musketeer stroked his shirt sleeve, admiring the stitches Marie had put in when she mended that rip for him.

On second thoughts, he better go break up their fun least they get too carried away and D'Artagnan came calling to avenge his daughter's honour.

* * *

><p>Athos groaned. His head ached like little devils were running riot within his skull poking him with pitchforks. He knew he had to warn the king somehow, but it was impossible to gain an audience with him, or his mother. Queen Anne had taken ill again and was not receiving any visitors, especially not a count known for being more drunk than sober. He was utterly exhausted from his night-long riding and had not slept for more than a day. He was unable to think straight. He almost walked past the cardinal and a conspirator in the gardens before he realised it. Gingerly, he tiptoed back to eavesdrop.<p>

"Francois, you are being a fool. Nothing can go wrong with the plan…"

"Monsignor, I may be angry at him for bedding my woman, but what if he were to be killed. France needs a king." The captain of the palace guards sounded doubtful. Perhaps his bustle before the others was nothing but a show.

"And she'll have one, I promise you that…"

"But the Queen Mother… her health is fragile. The shock of such an attack could kill her…"

"The queen has always been fragile but God will take care of her for the pious woman she is." The cardinal's voice dropped to a whisper. In the evening shadows, Athos leaned forward to catch their conversation better. It was a workman's misplaced bucket that betrayed him to the pair.

"La Fere!" Francois called out.

"Has he heard us?" Mazarin asked warily. Athos struggled to think of a reply.

"He is with us," Francois added. Athos stumbled from a sudden onset of dizziness brought on by his weariness. He grabbed the nearby statue of a naked nymph for support.

"He is a known drunk… Choose your friends more carefully, captain…" the cardinal snorted. Athos allowed himself to slide onto the grass as if he were indeed shrugging off the effects of too much drink. He intended to get up as soon as the men's footsteps died away. However, his body soon betrayed him and he was snoring for real.

* * *

><p>Rafael had suggested they set fire to the building and pick the residents off with crossbows when they came fleeing through the door. The idea would have worked if it weren't for the heavy downpour that came down upon them like Heaven's own wrath. The presence of a child was a complication. Gabriel had a soft spot for children, thanks to Philippe. He might be a brute but he had his limits. So it was up to Michel and Rafael to finish off D'Artagnan and de Treville. Gabriel would babysit Philippe. They had been watching the building for a while now and caught no sign of D'Artagnan. De Treville was in. They had caught a glimpse of him at a window earlier. His housekeeper and her brat were in too. They did not know if anyone else was in the building. De Treville's former students sometimes visited but surely at this late hour…<p>

* * *

><p>Aramis hastened back to de Treville's. He had scouted the expected route for the planned ambush as Athos suggested. An overturned farm cart should block the main junction and force a diversion. Then he had gone over to Porthos' in time to witness Porthos giving his godson a rebuke for seducing maidens in the stables. Of course, D'Artagnan would have a lot to say if his daughter were to lose her honour. Raoul and Toni promised solemnly not to proceed further without getting married first but everyone knew the ways of youth and passion. Porthos had elected to remain behind to keep an eye on his godson while suggesting that Aramis return to de Treville's once the heavy downpour stopped.<p>

"_You know the Captain's been crippled thanks to some upstart and in all likelihood, they are watching the place…" _

Rain turned the streets of Paris into muddy mires which made walking difficult. The priest bit back a curse when he wrenched his ankle by stepping into a hidden pothole. He had lost his boot in the muck and had to grope for it in the darkness and mud before he found it and crammed it back on his now swelling foot. Aramis soldiered on despite his sprained ankle. At least he was doing something right… He had to return to their captain's…

* * *

><p>An owl hooted, reminding the watchers of the late hour. The sun had set and folk were seeking safety indoors by fires. The two assassins crept out from the ruins of the demolished stables flanking the building. They had hidden themselves there before the downpour. The trio inside were probably sitting down for supper, little knowing it was to be their last meal together…<p>

* * *

><p>"Henri, stop playing with your food," Marie chided her son. Henri was flicking his peas across the table at de Treville's tankard whenever he thought the old man was looking away.<p>

"Don't like peas…" the little boy pouted. He looked so adorable that de Treville could not help smiling despite the annoyance of finding peas in his wine.

"Henri, eat your peas if you want to be as strong as Gr- Uncle…" de Treville caught himself just in time. It had been a moment of folly that resulted in Marie's birth. Even though he had done what he could for his daughter, he dared not acknowledge her as his child. At least he had fixed everything with the lawyer so that Marie and Henri would not be left penniless when he passed on.

"Uncle, what do you think of Monsieur Porthos?" Marie asked quietly. De Treville almost choked on his wine.

"I like Uncle Porthos!" Henri announced in childish enthusiasm. "He give me sweets!"

"After I said you are not to have any for not eating your turnips," Marie rebuked her son. De Treville sighed. It was difficult for a widow with a young child in tow. _But Porthos?_ Surely Marie could find a better husband…

"He is a bit thick in the waist and too free with his coin."

"I think he just needs a wife to manage his household finances… and he's not fat, just big-boned…" Marie quickly leapt to Porthos' defence. "Besides, he gets along well with Henri… Henri, stop playing with the gravy bowl! Oh, you've spilled it on…" Red gravy was staining the white of the tablecloth.

De Treville suddenly motioned for silence from Marie. He was sure he had heard something in the hallway. Every fibre of his being was on alert, as if he were a soldier on the battlefront again. He knew the threat was no figment of his imagination when he heard the tell-tale creak of that loose floorboard when a weight was placed on it.

"Marie, take Henri to the storeroom and bar the door. Don't come out no matter what… Go _now!_" Marie grabbed her son, clapping a hand over his mouth to silence any protest, and fled into the kitchen towards the storeroom. The storeroom was built entirely of stone with sturdy door of oak. It should be sufficient to deter any attackers. More importantly, there was a small window at the back where a small woman like Marie and her child might make their escape from into the alley should the need arise.

De Treville loped over to the far wall where they had hung a pair of blades. He wished he had been more consistent in maintaining the blades. He grabbed one with his left hand and almost dropped it in pulling it from its sheath. He regretted not having persisted in training himself to fence with his left arm after his maiming. He did not know how many intruders were in his house but he was not going to go quietly. He gripped the hilt of his chosen rapier awkwardly and waited.

**Author's Notes:**

Yes, poor Planchet is possibly traumatized for the remainder of his life.

I feel am setting the scene for a possible tragedy here. Exit M. de Treville?


	20. Chapter 20

Disclaimer – 3 Musketeers and the characters belong to Alexander Dumas pere.

**Chapter 20**

_Porthos' house_

It was probably for the best that Porthos walked in on them in the stables. There was no telling how far things would have got otherwise. Their evening meal was torture. Toni could feel her cheeks burn whenever Raoul happened to turn his head in her direction. Something had passed between them during those brief moments in the stables and they knew it. Raoul was also struggling to make sense of the situation. He had been in numerous dalliances but he had never felt that way about a woman like Toni. The past objects of his affection were too often empty-headed and shallow damsels, who were quick to drop him as soon as they discover his ridiculous phobia and the fact his father was constantly on the verge of disowning him. He swore he would try his best to overcome that phobia and perhaps make something of his life, be it as a playwright or a soldier.

Porthos marvelled at how it was to be young and so unabashedly in love. Twice already he had to place his bulk between Toni and Raoul but that did not stop the heated glances. Somehow, Raoul managed to wriggle his way past his godfather to sit next to Toni. First they would be holding hands. Next they would be pressing their foreheads together and whispering sweet nothings… Porthos wondered if he ought to safeguard Toni's honour by placing his bed against her door so that the lovebirds would not be tempted to visit each other tonight… Or perhaps it would be more prudent for Athos and D'Artagnan to arrange a speedy marriage.

If it was any comfort, Raoul's preoccupation with Toni was taking his mind off his problems with his father.

It was growing late. Planchett was yawning as he cleared the table of their supper things. The poor servant was still trying to wrap his mind around the fact that Master Toni was a Mademoiselle.

"Would young master – oops – I mean mademoiselle like some fresh water in her room…" Planchett asked.

"Please, just call me Toni. And yes, thank you. A basin of clean water in my room will be great…" Toni smiled. "I wish my father is safe… Has he told anyone where he is?" She turned to face Porthos.

Porthos shook his head. As much as he wished he knew, D'Artagnan was secretive about his hidey-holes in the city. They did have a few from their days in the Musketeers but those were long gone. The house near Church of St Agnes had been razed to the ground in a fire. The room they kept in the inn on Bakers' Lane had been let out long ago when the inn changed hands. The house beside the convent had been returned to the convent when the Musketeers disbanded, so he had heard.

* * *

><p><em>De Treville's house<em>

"Michel de Loupefort…" de Treville recognized the face of his opponent and those amber eyes. He recalled the shock of that injury inflicted on him, closely followed by the horror and despair as the realisation he had lost the use of his sword-arm set in. He tightened his grip on his hilt such that the knuckles of his left hand showed white. His wrist ached. It has been too long since he last… He had to keep them occupied, long enough for Marie and Henri to escape, or help to arrive, however fleeting a hope that might be.

"I warned you, old man. Where's D'Artagnan?" Michel drawled almost leisurely as he circled, drawing de Treville to the centre of the room. The old man was watching his every move like a hawk. Upstairs, the soft-footed Rafael was conducting his own search. There was no sign of the housekeeper or her brat despite the table being set for three. No matter. The pair were probably cowering somewhere in the cellars. They did not pose any threat. Though having them in hand might make de Treville less stubborn.

"Nowhere where you'd find him, you traitor!" de Treville spat the words out with as much venom as he could muster.

"So he has spoken with you… Pity, hope you've said your prayers…" Michel purred. His eyes narrowed as he went in for the kill.

The blow passed dangerously close to his side, only to be awkwardly parried. De Treville huffed as he spun to deliver a thrust to Michel's unguarded side. His sinews protested the sudden movement. The younger man reacted by dodging the blade with a skill which only could be matched by de Treville's best swordsmen under his past captaincy. The thrusts and slashes were coming fast and furious from both sides, albeit a tad clumsily from de Treville's lack of practice with his left arm and age.

Michel hissed as de Treville's blade tore into his forearm, ripping through both cloth and flesh in a ragged arc. He leapt back with a curse. De Treville pressed on in his attack. It was a mistake. They were too near the table. The point of his blade dug into the wood behind Michel and snapped like a twig. The advantage was now Michel's and he did not hesitate. While his opponent was still off-balance, he thrust his rapier into the vulnerable gut. He yanked the sword out as de Treville crumpled to the floor.

"There's no one else here!" Rafael called out as he completed his search of the other rooms. "Let's go!"

Michel flicked blood from his blade before sheathing it. They were wasting their time here.

* * *

><p>Aramis knew something was amiss the moment he arrived in the courtyard. The front door was open. Cautiously he tied to melt into the shadows and skirt the courtyard, careful to keep out of the lamp light from the doorway. Two figures emerged from within the house. For a moment, his heart leapt. It was probably D'Artagnan and Athos…<p>

"Athos? D'Artagnan?" he stepped out into the lamplight before he realised his terrible mistake. The gleam of a pistol was the only warning Aramis had before the boom of the pistol sent his ears ringing. The point-blank impact to his chest sent waves of pain through his being. He staggered and fell back over a wooden bench. The mocking fleeing footfalls of his attackers echoed in his ears before everything went black.

* * *

><p>Ever since he had left de Treville's, D'Artagnan felt a sense of nagging unease in his chest. He had scoured the streets to no avail before returning to his hideout for some rest and refreshment. Exhaustion granted him a few hours of dreamless sleep despite the unease. It was only the vespers prayers of the sisters next door that woke him. Now he cursed himself for allowing so much time to pass. He should have returned to de Treville's to check on the household's safety.<p>

Stepping into the courtyard, he recognized the limp form sprawled across the upturned bench. "Aramis!" Abandoning all caution, he ran over to Aramis. He seemed to be breathing still. There was a horrible burn mark on the front of his shirt. D'Artagnan felt for the wound. Aramis weakly gasped and his eyelids fluttered open. D'Artagnan muttered a prayer of thanks. There was only a nasty bruise on Aramis' ribs. The pistol ball had, by some divine providence, barrelled into the cross Aramis always wore about his neck, warping the iron but leaving his friend alive.

"T-treville…" Aramis struggled onto his feet. They ran into the house. They were barely halfway into the hall when they heard a woman screaming. They burst into the dining room to find Marie kneeling over the limp form of their former captain, pressing a bloodied linen napkin to his wound. A bewildered Henri stared on. The former musketeers hastened to their fallen captain. D'Artagnan's heart sank when he lifted the napkin and saw the wound. He was experienced enough to recognize it for a mortal one.

"I'll get a doctor!" Aramis gasped and ran for the door. D'Artagnan ruefully thought it would better if they got a priest instead. De Treville was trying to speak. D'Artagnan bent his ear towards the old man's trembling lips.

* * *

><p>"Porthos! Open up!"<p>

Porthos was just pulling his bedclothes up to his chin when he was roused by frantic thumping on his door and familiar shouts from the street outside his window. He stuck his head out the window. Sounds and footsteps from Raoul's room announced that his godson had also been roused from his slumber.

"D'Artagnan?" There was enough light from the moon for Porthos to make out the eye patch and his friend's worried face. The look was enough to make Porthos grab his boots. As an afterthought he decided to fetch Raoul. Perhaps something had happened to Athos.

"Papa?" Toni called as she stuck her head out the top floor window of her room overlooking the street. "Has something happened?" she asked. Both Porthos and Raoul were already stumbling out the front door. Toni ducked back into her room and reached for her street clothes. There was no time to lose.

* * *

><p>"Michel?" Philippe's eyes widened as Rafael and Michel stumbled in through the front door. A drowsy Gabriel looked up from his armchair as Philippe limped over to the pair.<p>

"Why is he still up?" Michel hissed at Gabriel.

"What happened? You're hurt!" Philippe immediately started wiping at the blood soaking through Michel's sleeve.

"He wanted to wait up for you two," Gabriel protested. "He had one of those nightmares again. Where have you been? Brawling?"

"The old man almost proved too much for Michel here to handle…" Rafael snorted as he set about gathering the salves and bandages.

"It's nothing but a scratch… Gabriel! Get Philippe back to his bed!" Michel pushed young Philippe away. The old man's weapon was most likely rusty and they needed to clean the wound out. Nasty things happen to people who ignore filthy wounds. Rafael has already taken the bottle of brandy from the cupboard. This was going to sting like the devil.

Muttering under his breath, Gabriel scooped their charge into his arms and carried him off to bed despite his protests.

**Author's Notes:**

De Treville is definitely going out, but not before he settles some matters.


	21. Chapter 21

The D'Artagnan Romances and the characters are the creation of Alexandre Dumas pere. They are now in the public domain.

**Chapter 21**

"How's he?" Porthos gasped as he stepped into the room. The fetid stench of blood was overpowering. He elbowed the doctor out of the way despite Aramis' protests. The doctor, having exhausted his methods of healing, hastily bid farewell. D'Artagnan had opted to remain outside the sickroom with Raoul and Toni. Porthos paused for a moment to scoop up young Henri so that he would not be underfoot. De Treville's face was drawn and pale. Beads of perspiration clung to his brow even as Marie worked tirelessly to wipe them away. Aramis hovered nearby with his cross in his hand. Porthos could not help noticing the cross was slightly bent, as if it had been hit with some great force and then clumsily straightened out. He understood that look on Aramis' face. He had seen it often enough when Aramis administered to a stricken comrade past mortal aid.

"Not good, he has been fading fast…" Aramis whispered.

De Treville's eyes fluttered open, pupils unfocused and almost unseeing. He had most likely been drugged to ease the pain of his last hours. Still, he managed to grasp the large man's hand with surprising strength.

"P-porthos… M-my…" he coughed and reached for Marie's hand. Deliberately, he placed Marie's small hand, chafed from housework, into Porthos' much larger one. "P-please, take care of t-them… M-Marie and H-Henri..." de Treville whispered hoarsely. "Sh-she loves you, you know…" he managed a weak smile.

Face flushing furiously, Marie turned away, but she did not pull her hand from his. Porthos gently closed his fingers around Marie's hand. Young Henri had thrown both his arms around Porthos' neck and clung to him with his face nestled against his shoulder. "Monsieur, I will take care of them both…" Blinking away tears, Porthos promised his dying captain.

* * *

><p>D'Artagnan was racked with guilt. He stared at his boots. He should never have drawn de Treville into this, or his friends… He was painfully aware of Athos' absence. <em>What if something had happened to Athos in Versailles? How would he ever live with himself? <em>

Raoul watched the former musketeer with a mix of trepidation. There were lines on D'Artagnan's face, in addition to the scars which told of a life of much hardship. This was one of his father's colleagues, a man who would not be pleased if some upstart playwright paid his daughter court. There was at this moment no sign of any gaiety or the easy nature which characterised his godfather, Porthos. Sensing the younger man's eyes on him, D'Artagnan raised his head.

"Young man, you're Olivier de la Fere's son, aren't you?" D'Artagnan's brow furrowed when he noticed that the young man and his daughter were holding hands.

"Y-yes, monsieur… My name is Raoul…"

"You take after your father…" D'Artagnan said slowly. He did not miss the look of concern Toni gave the young man, or how she squeezed his hand so slightly. His daughter was in love. The look on her face reminded him so much of her departed mother that it hurt. Raoul had inherited his father's good looks but where Athos held himself with confidence, his son appeared hesitant. The clothes Raoul wore were the height of fashion and expensive without a doubt. He was pale, a far cry from the healthy tan the musketeers had acquired from their patrols in all weather.

D'Artagnan took hold of Raoul's hand. It was just as he feared. The wrist was too limp, the palm free of calluses. This was no swordsman. For all appearances, Athos' son was another one of those wastrel noblemen he had seen strutting about the palace in their finery. Surely he could not entrust his only child's happiness to a man like this.

"Papa," Toni blurted. She sensed her father's disapproval. "He's saved me from brigands…"

"Or was it you who saved him?" D'Artagnan sniped. "This young man is no swordsman."

"He might not be a swordsman yet, but he's on his way to being one. I'm tutoring him," Toni added.

There was a commotion from the sickroom. Marie came running out with a blood-filled basin. "He's taken a turn for the worse…"

Raoul turned pale at the sight of the blood. His knees threatened to buckle. _No, not now, he can't faint in front of his future father-in-law!_ Toni was there to steady him. Fortunately, D'Artagnan was distracted by the dire situation of the patient. He slipped into the room, almost colliding with a sleepy-eyed young Henri. "Take him," he handed the child to Toni and he paused when he saw Raoul leaning heavily on his daughter. The young man was apparently on the verge of fainting.

"I'll take care of him, papa. He's just tired," Toni lied. D'Artagnan returned his attention to the sickroom. Aramis was praying despite the tears which came rolling down his cheeks. The sheets were bloodied. Cradling the patient in his arms, Porthos wiped a trickle of blood from de Treville's pale lips. He looked up and caught D'Artagnan's eye. He shook his head sadly and lowered de Treville back onto the bed. Their former captain was gone.

"D'Artagnan… the king… We must stop the cardinal's plan," Porthos spoke with steely determination.

* * *

><p><em>Versailles<em>

Athos could not believe his good fortune as the page boy showed him to a large hall. He had been granted an audience with the Queen Mother. He had brushed the dust and dirt off his clothes the best he could, mindful that his bedraggled appearance was unfit for a queen's company. It had been so long since he last partook of court life. _Did she still recall his name?_ _Would she recognize him as one of the four musketeers who had served her husband so loyally? _Athos tried to suck in his gut. He had developed a slight paunch over the years. To his horror, he noticed some old wine stains on his sleeve cuffs. There was mud from the gardens on his boot. The page boy had taken his sword and Athos felt painfully exposed despite the fact that he had not had cause to use his sword in ages. He never really considered how much a part of his person a sword had become.

The sun had long risen by now. Surely Queen Anne and her ladies would be coming into the reception hall he had been shown to. The gilded doors swung open. Instead of Queen Anne, it was His Majesty himself. Athos gasped and hurriedly knelt. Louis XIV wrinkled his nose in disgust.

"So this is a beggar who dares seek an audience with Her Majesty the Queen Mother… perhaps you should check with the lord chamberlain on the protocol first."

Athos clenched his jaw at those words coming from his royal master. A twitter of nervous laughter rippled through the throng of courtiers around the king. Athos swallowed hard. He had to warn the king and the queen mother of Mazarin's plans.

"Your Majesty, forgive my intrusion but I must warn you of a plot against your person and your mother by none other than the cardinal Mazarin himself. Her Majesty's servant D'Artagnan…"

"Oh, that old nuisance… Guards, I do believe this man is drunk or a lunatic. Captain, do lock him up before this room starts stinking…" Louis XIV scowled in displeasure. Athos tried to rise but he was immediately pinned down by a pair of burly guards. Their blades at his neck and hopelessly unarmed, he could only watch helplessly as the king and entourage exited.

"Really, la Fere, I thought we were friends…" Captain Francois muttered. Athos pondered if he should reveal the captain as a co-conspirator, but the king and his entourage were too far away by now and the guards restraining him might be fellow conspirators. Perhaps Francois would kill him there and then. The captain turned to a large curtain. Cardinal Mazarin emerged from the alcove behind the curtain.

"You have received your orders from His Majesty, captain, so follow them. Lock up this man until there is a suitable time to deal with him…" Mazarin ordered.

"You traitor!" In a move born more of desperation than any hope of success, he shoved the guards' blades aside and launched himself at the cardinal. A sharp pain shot through his skull before darkness overtook him.

* * *

><p><em>Paris<em>

News spread fast. Michel was a little perturbed to see the turnout of former students and fencing instructors who shuffled into de Treville's courtyard to pay their last respects. Even Andre, whom they had soundly thrashed to within an inch of his life, was there limping with the aid of two friends. The old man was well-liked in life and greatly admired. The assassin mused that if things had turned out differently for his family, his father might have chosen such a man as his fencing tutor, a true man of honour. He mingled with the mourners, careful not to draw attention to himself.

De Treville's housekeeper was weeping while a large man comforted her. The body had been lain out in a simple pine coffin, hastily-made. The housekeeper's boy wandered among the mourners, bewildered by the sudden influx of callers to his home. Michel had expected D'Artagnan to show but there was no sign of the man.

"Any luck?" Gabriel's voice boomed indiscreetly. Michel hurriedly shushed the man and shook his head. "Guess he's really gone, eh?" Gabriel shrugged his shoulders.

"Monsieur!" Young Henri recognized Gabriel from the pie shop and waved at him. The giant waved back. "What are you doing here?" he asked the boy. Michel slinked into the shadows of the perimeter wall.

"Monsieur de Treville died. His mother's the housekeeper…" Porthos strolled up, having caught sight of a familiar face. He lifted Henri into his arms in a fatherly manner.

"My sincere condolences… I hear he was old. Was it age?" Gabriel removed his hat and affected a sympathetic attitude.

"No, he was foully murdered!" Porthos spat out the words vehemently and loud enough for more than a few heads to turn his way. An uneasy whisper rippled through the mourners. His wound hidden under his clothes, de Treville could have been peacefully sleeping. _Dying in your bed of old age was one thing, but murder?_

* * *

><p><em>Paris, D'Artagnan's hideout.<em>

"I thought the sisters took back the house when the Musketeers were disbanded…" Aramis wondered at the once-familiar surroundings.

"They did, but Her Majesty decided I needed a place to stay in Paris outside the palace and had it rented from the convent," D'Artagnan replied. His wounds were still sore and he was glad Aramis was there to help him change the bandages properly. Unlike a meddlesome friar, Aramis would not hide his clothes or force him to stay in bed.

Aramis' eyes wandered over the battered but still-sturdy furniture. The table he used to write his letters at was still there with its many ink stains. There was a small portrait of a regal-looking youth on the wall, where Louis XIII's portrait once hung.

**Author's Notes:**

M. de Treville's gone and Athos has been found out.


	22. Chapter 22

The D'Artagnan Romances and the characters are the creation of Alexandre Dumas pere. They are now in the public domain.

**Chapter 22**

"It's all over the streets!" Marie exclaimed as she dumped her marketing on the kitchen table. They had only buried de Treville the day before. The recent heat made an extended wake impossible. "The king and the queen-mother visit Paris next week. They will be attending the Sunday Mass at Notre Dame. Goodness knows if His Majesty will really visit this- Henri, please stop climbing onto the table, you're too old for such games…" the woman grabbed her wayward son by the waist and hoisted him off the table. There was no time for grieving now that they had other matters to attend to.

Marie was back to being her old bossy, no-nonsense self, Porthos noted. He loathed leaving mother and son unguarded. Marie had refused to move to his place for safety. De Treville had left his house to Marie and word had spread. It would not be long before the first of her suitors come calling. Marie might not be young, but she was pretty enough and now had a large house to her name. Porthos was glad to forgo the comforts of Planchet's service to help see those suitors off. Toni and Raoul would help keep an eye on things, with Toni moving into one of the rooms at Marie's house. The young couple were training in the yard. Aramis would visit now and then, between his visits to D'Artagnan. Someone had to keep an eye on the Gascon. D'Artagnan was pushing himself far too hard.

"Porthos, any news from Athos?" Marie asked. Porthos shook his head. It had been three days without word from Athos. They did not know the situation at Versailles or in court. Gossip in the market was highly unreliable and Louis XIV was as fickle as the weather. The visit had already been postponed a few times supposedly due to his mother's poor health. Others claimed that Louis detested the filth and stench of Paris and preferred Versailles.

D'Artagnan and Aramis were searching the streets but the mysterious wolf-eyed man who worked for the cardinal and his fellow lackeys were nowhere to be found.

"Porthos, can you please help with Henri please?" a harried Marie asked. Young Henri was trying to climb onto the shelves. Porthos carried the boy onto his shoulders and tried to walk out the door. _Big mistake._ There was a sharp crack and Henri started wailing. The poor boy did not think to duck before hitting the door frame.

"I beg your pardon…" Porthos hurried set Henri down on the kitchen table.

"Oh Henri, Porthos, what am I to do with you?" Marie sighed and started dabbing the blood off Henri's face. It was not as bad as it first appeared. Her son had lost a tooth but it was a baby tooth which was loose to start with.

* * *

><p>"Toni, stop poking me…"<p>

"Raoul, you have to parry if you do not wish to be poked…"

Toni and Raoul were practising their sword-work with a pair of slender willow rods. The tip of her rod touched Raoul on the throat. Raoul had yet to master the art of parrying.

"Raoul, please concentrate!" Toni barked.

"I'm sorry, I can't…" Raoul threw away his rod in disgust. "I cannot do sword fighting, any more than you can dance…"

"You can at least try," Toni coaxed. She picked up Raoul's rod and tossed it in his direction. The rod caught him straight in the face, drawing blood. Raoul fell onto his rear.

"Oh, Raoul! I'm so sorry…"

"Me bault. Ah wasn't paying attenshun," Raoul pinched the bridge of his nose. He could taste the coppery liquid oozing from his nose. He closed his eyes, willing himself not to faint. "My pather… no mews from him?"

"Are you worried about him?" Toni was leaning over him, cleaning away the blood.

"Am not… Brobably brunk somewhere…" Raoul protested but he did not sound too confident. The bleeding was starting to slow.

"Raoul, your father would never go off drinking himself into a stupor when he is on a mission." It was Aramis. The priest hobbled into the yard just as Porthos came out with Henri. Henri ran over to pat both Cher Ami and Bon Bon on their noses while Aramis and Porthos exchanged a few words. Toni hurried over lest the boy should run afoul of her pony's chomping teeth. Athos' uncharacteristic failure to send word disturbed them all.

"Porthos, I will make a trip to Versailles…" Aramis said. "Just get Toni or someone to keep D'Artagnan from over-exerting himself. He is using the old hideout at the sisters'."

"You? But how are you getting into the palace?" Porthos frowned. "Benefit of clergy?"

Aramis had not thought it out properly but there would be a way for him to get in. He did hold a minor title from his mother's side. Or he could act the part of a passing priest. Queen Anne was devout and they claim she prayed daily in the chapel when her health allowed.

* * *

><p>Athos felt sick. His limbs trembled. He needed his wine. The bread and water jug he had been left could not sate that ache. He half-wished Francois had killed him on the spot instead of casting him into what appeared to be a crypt. There were works being carried out above. He could hear the faint shouts of the builders but they could not hear his over the din of construction. He had groped his way in the pitch black to the trap door but it failed to budge. Perhaps they meant for him to die there, trapped like a rat.<p>

He knew there were rats about. He could hear their scrambling feet when they devoured the bread he did not touch. The bolder ones crawled all over him when he did sleep. Feeling utterly wretched, Athos curled up into a ball. He thought about his friends, and his son. That was a surprise to him. He never really gave Raoul or the boy's mother much thought. His marriage was a farce from the beginning, entered into for the sole purpose of producing an heir and tying the fortunes of two families. He never really loved his wife and barely tolerated her. It was a surprise to all that they did spend enough time together to produce Raoul, or was his 'son' the product of one of his wife's many infidelities?

No, Raoul was his son. No matter what the servants and fellow nobles whispered. And he had been as poor a father to the boy as he was a husband to his wife. True, Raoul was a far cry from the son he expected to uphold the family name, but he was his son all the same. Hadn't the tutors remarked on how bright the boy was in his scholarly studies? He had barely taken note of Raoul's achievements in the schoolroom. The ridiculous fear of blood and the fainting spells put him off. Once he had thought it a physical illness and summoned doctors to see his son. Once he realised it was not a physical illness but a fear of blood which brought on the fainting, he knew Raoul would never make it as a soldier.

His body was screaming for alcohol. _Wine_, he needed wine…

* * *

><p>"Look, if there is anyone going to Versailles to look for Athos and warn the king, it is me," Aramis insisted.<p>

"Aramis, you narrowly dodged a bullet and you might have cracked a rib or two," Porthos protested.

"Porthos, you wouldn't blend in at Versailles. I can. D'Artagnan is in no state to going galloping off to Versailles."

"In that smelly cassock or those rags you're wearing now? Please, you need a proper suit of clothes… Perhaps de Treville has something your size…"

"What? You've been going through the captain's belongings?"

"I was helping Marie tidy things up. Besides, Monsieur de Treville would not mind you using his old clothes. We'll rent a carriage…"

"Porthos, the idea is to be discreet. I can't possibly go riding up to the palace in a carriage…"

"Fine, we rent you a nice nag… just leave it to me… Marie, you spare me some coin?" Porthos called out to Marie as she walked past. She shrugged and tossed him a bulging purse.

"Just rent him a nag, Porthos. No lingering at the tailor's. I'll get Aramis my uncle's best suit."

"Yes, my dear…" Porthos winced as Henri ran full-tilt into him before his mother could stop him. Aramis chuckled. Porthos was well under Marie's thumb and he did not seem to even realize it.

* * *

><p>"Where's Michel?" Rafael yawned and stretched. He had slept in after a late-night call on his associates in the Parisian underworld for some supplies.<p>

"Gone to report to the cardinal. Want to take Philippe out for a bit? He's been chafing to get some fresh air," Gabriel replied. He had flour all over his shirt. Rafael paused and studied the stains thoughtfully. The colour of the flour was slightly off.

"Gabriel, are you baking bread?"

Gabriel nodded. "Yup, sourdough. There was a bit of starter dough on the top shelf…" Rafael ran for the kitchen.

"Gabriel, you imbecile! I warned you not to touch anything I left on the top shelf!"

"I told you not to leave your poisons lying about!" Gabriel snapped back as realization dawned on him. "Tell me, what is your poison to do? Make my hands rot off?"

Fortunately, it was not a contact poison but the bread would be totally inedible. They were now out of flour and the pantry was bare. A visit to the cookhouse was in order. The outing would do Philippe some good.

* * *

><p>Aramis inspected his potential steed with a critical eye. The roan mare was manageable enough and she seemed to be up to the task. Whether she could be counted on for swiftness was another matter. The other horses in the stable were no better. The brown stallion was too spirited and the gelding far too old and worn out. He could borrow Raoul's mare but that nasty grey pony was standing guard over her…<p>

"Porthos, I'll take this one," Aramis made his choice.

"Very well, sir," the stable-master stated his price and Aramis could not help but wince at it. Surely it was too steep. However, Porthos did not hesitate to open his purse. Henri drummed a sprightly rhythm with a stick on the fence.

"Look! It's Philippe!" Henri crowed and waved at his friend across the street. Porthos looked up from where he was counting out the coins for paying the stable-master. He recognised the young cripple and his large guardian. They were not alone. With them was a small, swarthy-looking man.

"Henri! We're going to the cookhouse…" Philippe grinned to see his young friend. He hobbled over on his crutches. Gabriel put out his hand as if to restrain the youngster but Philippe was too quick. He was chatting to Henri. He paled slightly when he saw the many horses.

"I don't like horses much…" Philippe confessed as he watched the horses pawing in their stalls.

"I like them. I want to be a soldier like my papa…" Henri replied. "Bon Bon is nice but Cher Ami's a bit grumpy, like Uncle when his bones hurt him when raining…"

"Are you getting the boy a horse, friend?" Gabriel greeted Porthos as he crossed over to the stables. He smiled but the smile did not touch his eyes. There was a sense of tension about him and his swarthy companion, who remained across the street.

"Can I get a horse, Monsieur?" Henri chirped. Porthos shook his head. Henri pouted in disappointment but that only lasted until Philippe shared his bag of sweets with the younger boy.

"They're so innocent at that age, aren't they? Still, his ma would probably have my head if I put him on a horse now," Porthos laughed. Aramis was still inside the stables saddling his horse.

"Philippe, Gabriel, we need to go!" Rafael shouted. Michel would have both their hides for taking Philippe out. Hearing him, Philippe hobbled over. Gabriel curtly bid Porthos goodbye and joined his charge, just as Aramis emerged from the stables leading his horse by the reins. He froze when he caught sight of Rafael. He opened his mouth to speak. Then he saw Philippe and his words froze in his throat. Rafael and Gabriel exchanged some words. Philippe limped alongside the pair as they strode away.

"P-Porthos…" Aramis whispered hoarsely. His chest ached. Porthos was busy admiring the sprightly stallion and considering the price the stable-master was asking.

"What is it?"

"That man, the one across the street. He was there when Monsieur de Treville was killed- he shot me… And that boy with him looked like…"

* * *

><p><em>Earlier, D'Artagnan's hideout. <em>

"_Who's that?" Aramis asked as he gazed at the portrait. The young man was clad in the stylish clothes so popular in the noble circles. The mess of curls on top his head would have taken a dresser ages to style to such perfection. There was something familiar in the line of his jaw. The haughty look on his face irked Aramis somehow. D'Artagnan did not even look up from where he was pulling off his boots. _

"_His Majesty, Louis XIV. That was a gift from the queen mother…"_

* * *

><p>"Take my horse," Aramis shouted and thrust the reins at a bewildered Porthos. <em>Was it possible that the boy was the missing prince, twin to the king?<em> He was in the company of one of de Treville's killers. Aramis ran but the crowds on the street had thickened. He narrowly missed colliding with a plump matron balancing two large baskets of vegetables on her hips. The trio had turned the corner by then. He turned, hoping to catch them. Porthos could not leave the horse or young Henri unattended. Aramis was alone.

Aramis groaned when he turned the corner and was confronted by a bustling street market. A cookhouse, the _Three Guardsmen_, was doing a roaring trade in pies and ale. Hawkers and peddlers called out for custom. A tailor's, a blacksmith's and perfumery occupied the buildings across from the cookhouse. Beside the cookhouse was a brothel. Not too far down the road was a small church holding a procession. Aramis dimly recollected that it was the feast day of some obscure saint. The altar boys were marching with colourful banners in their hands. The trio could be anywhere. They had lost their only lead to the prince's whereabouts.

There was nothing to do but ride to Versailles to seek out the missing Athos.

**Author's Notes: **

Athos needs some rescuing, and he is feeling the ill-effects of going off the bottle, like the alcoholic he has become. Maybe he does need to dry out a bit.


End file.
